


Stiles Stilinski and the Feather of Doom

by scribblemoose



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU after S4, Background Relationships, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Post Season 4, Post-Canon, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-26 19:30:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3861997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemoose/pseuds/scribblemoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles has a lot of feelings and Scott's pack are coming to terms with things while battling evil.</p><p>It's harder than it looks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> With many thanks to Kis for betaing, and to the mods of the Sciles MiniBang for running the challenge so generously and flawlessly.
> 
>  --
> 
> The legal age of consent in my country is 16, but if it isn't in yours bear in mind that Stiles and Scott are 17 here and consider yourself warned appropriately.
> 
> \--
> 
> [Art](http://i58.tinypic.com/14acfn.jpg) by [21hax](http://21hax.tumblr.com/)

Stiles wanders into the locker-room with his eyes on his phone, texting Lydia to ask exactly why she wants him to hack into his Dad's personnel files for Parrish's transfer papers. Stiles is also wondering where his phone charger could be if it isn't in his locker, because he's searched literally everywhere else, and shit, what if he's actually lost it? He has precisely zero dollars available to buy a new one. He is also dimly aware that he's running late for History, and that's not something he wants to happen on the first day of senior year.

The one thing Stiles isn't anticipating is an ambush.

He walks right into one.

As ambushes go, it is by far the least deadly that Stiles has encountered. In fact, it's probably the best. One minute he's opening his locker to search for his phone charger, and the next he's being shoved up against the wall and passionately and insistently kissed. And Scott, who is doing the kissing, apparently can't see anything out of place with this scenario at all. Which, Stiles thinks as he nibbles on Scott's lower lip, there sort of isn't. Because they do this now, apparently, except-

The words 'public place' echo around Stiles' mind, totally spoiling his fun, and he pushes Scott away, struggling to engage the speech centre of his brain.

"Hey, Scott. Not that this isn't awesome, but remember how we had a long discussion and came up with the whole 'secret relationship' plan?"

"Yeah, I think I hate that plan now." Scott's voice is husky, and he's staring at Stiles' mouth.

"No, Scotty, you don't hate the plan. It was _your_ plan, remember? And I agreed to it wholeheartedly for very good and noble reasons. I think."

"I could smell you all through Math," says Scott. He licks his lips. "You smell really good. It makes me horny."

"It's always about the romance with you werewolves, isn't it? Flowers and poetry. It's a beautiful thing, really, it is."

"You want flowers? I could get you flowers."

Stiles realises that they are holding hands - he can't even remember how that happened - and Scott is moving his thumb over Stiles' knuckles. He looks worried.

"No, I don't want flowers," Stiles says.

"That's what I figured. We've known each other so long, it would be weird, right? But I would, totally, if you wanted."

Of course he would. Scott is the most romantic person in the world. And weird as it unquestionably is, it would at least be easier to handle than the time Malia brought him a dead rabbit.

Scott squeezes his hand. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Look, no flowers, no poems. It's great that I smell good, and I promise I'll still smell good at the end of the school day, and then we'll go back to your house and you can ravage me to your heart's content. Okay?"

Scott leers at him. Clearly he approves of ravaging, and Stiles' dick is like a steel bar right now, so that's all good. "Until then, situation normal," Stiles continues. "Stiles and Scott, best bros, partners in crime, double-act extraordinaire. That way nobody gets hurt feelings, nothing gets complicated and we all survive 'til Tuesday."

Scott frowns. "What's happening Tuesday?"

"Nothing, Scott, it's a figure of speech. Now, unhand me before I change my mind and we're all placed in terrible danger, okay?"

"You're right." Scott squeezes his hand again. "It's just that-"

"-I smell good. Yeah, yeah, I know. What can I say? It's a talent."

"No, I mean… well, yes, but that's not… You haven't really seen Malia since the end of last year, and if it's weird when you do see her, or if you change your mind, it's okay, dude. I'll understand."

"She broke up with me, remember?"

"She might want to un-break-up with you."

Stiles sighs. "No, Scott. She won't. And that's okay. Whatever happened on that road trip with Derek changed things. I just wish… I dunno."

"What, man?" Scott has moved in close again; the warmth of his body is comforting and Stiles' arm slides remarkably easily around Scott's waist, like it belongs there. 

"I wish we could still be friends. I mean, the sex was great, but it was more… She understood things, things no-one else really gets. I miss talking to her."

"Give it time, Stiles. It's only been a couple of months."

"You and Kira still talk."

A muscle twitches deep in Scott's back. 

"That's different." 

"Because she still holds out some hope that you'll get back together?"

"I don't know." Scott's head bangs down on Stiles' shoulder.

"Yeah, and as if our break-ups weren't complicated enough, now we're doing whatever the hell this is."

"It's good," says Scott, plaintively. "This is good."

The thing is, Scott is right. Having him like this, for all that it's only been twenty four hours and came completely out of left field, not to mention that it's incredibly inconvenient - it's heart-flutteringly, dick-achingly, soul-warmingly good. And Stiles wants it.

"After school, dude," says Stiles. "Your mom gonna be out?"

"Yep. Overtime again."

"Great. We'll get takeout. No flowers."

"No flowers. Got it." Scott kisses Stiles' neck before he pulls away.

It tickles all the way through History.

*

Lunch is a socially dangerous time at any stage of high school, but perhaps especially so in senior year. Which is why the sight of Lydia sitting at an empty table in the senior section of the cafeteria, calmly slicing an apple into slender, perfectly equal wedges, is a relief to Stiles. He takes a seat opposite her.

"Did you find anything?" she asks him.

"Not yet. They monitor log-ins so I have to wait 'til Dad's on shift, or it'll be obvious it's not him. What's the hurry?"

"It's been three months, and we're no closer to finding out what he is. He's getting very despondent."

"No clues at all?"

She glares at him. 

"Okay, okay. I'll get the papers tomorrow. But I'm sure if there'd been anything there Dad would have said something." Stiles stabs the straw into his juice-box, ignoring the spray of orange that splatters the rest of his lunch as a result. "Hey, where is everyone?"

"Coach dragged Scott off somewhere. Kira's gone to sit with Malia, in case she's lonely."

"Shit." Stiles should have thought of that. It must be crappy for Malia getting held back a year, and now he's rubbed salt into her wounds by ignoring her at lunch. 

"Stop that," says Lydia. "She's doing fine. She needs more time to catch up, that's all. They should never have put her in junior year to start with."

"Social reasons." Stiles scans the crowded room for Malia and Kira. "They put her with us because we're her friends and they thought we'd be able to help her with social skills."

"Oh. That actually makes sense."

"It was my dad's idea. He's had a lot of experience with anti-social behaviour."

He spots her, sharing a table with Kira, Liam and Mason. She's laughing at something Mason just said, and although Mason looks a bit startled, Malia seems relaxed and happy. Properly happy.

"Stiles?" Lydia's noticed where he's looking and there's concern in her voice. "Are you okay?"

"Kind of," says Stiles. "It's a work in progress."

Lydia gives him a tiny smile, and pops a segment of apple into her mouth.

*

The rest of the school day consists of a series of identical lectures from teachers telling everyone how important senior year is, how it will decide their college, their livelihood, their value to society itself. Failure, they insist, would be devastating.

Stiles has experienced so much devastation since Scott got bitten that he can barely rustle up a twinge of low-level anxiety at the prospect of the SATs and college applications. Besides, he has other things to think about. Like Scott. And Malia. And Kira. And _Scott_. Fucking hell, Scott, who he'd had sex with last night. His best friend.

"Stilinski?"

Stiles tries to push the image of Scott sucking his dick to the back of his mind (not to get rid of it altogether, obviously) and blinks up at Coach. 

"Never mind," says Coach, glaring from him to Scott and back again. "As I was saying, this year is full of defining moments. So defining, in fact, that if you put them all together you would have an actual dictionary of vital, epic moments. And if any of them include failing Economics, I promise you that it will induce a regret so profound that it will haunt you for the rest of your lives."

Stiles and Scott exchange a brief glance, and then Stiles notices Kira. She's sitting one row ahead and one to the right of him, and she's looking at Scott, biting her lip, turning away again, only to look back a few moments later. She seems anxious and sad. 

Stiles stares down at his desk, at the textbook and handout and pen that sit there, and feels like shit.

*

Stiles drives to Scott's house after school as promised. He parks outside, where he sits, trying to classify the feeling in his belly. It's butterfly-ish, for certain, but he's not sure if it's excited-butterflies or nervous-butterflies or guilt-butterflies. The one person who could help him to identify one belly-butterfly from another is Scott, which is no use at all, because whichever butterfly it is, Scott put it there. Scott was the caterpillar from which the butterfly has grown. And fuck, isn't that just a creepy, terrifying thought? Caterpillar-Scott spinning a cocoon in Stiles' belly.

Stiles stops that train of thought right there, before it can get any worse. 

He glances up at his reflection in the rear view mirror. 

"Come on, Stiles. It's just Scott. Scott who you met in the sandbox when you were four. Scott who hit Gary in third grade because he was mean about your mom. Scott who wouldn't kill you even when you were possessed by an evil spirit and twisting a sword in his gut. That Scott. Your Scott. Talk to Scott. Just talk to Scott."

There's something in the mirror.

Something that isn't Stiles, or Jeep.

A dark, fleeting shape that Stiles can't make anything of, except he's pretty sure it has wings. 

He twists around to see, but there's nothing there. Just his lacrosse socks bundled into a knot on the back seat, a towel from their trip to the beach, his phone charger.

Hey! His phone charger!

Stiles checks the mirror again and it tells him the same story. There's nothing there. A couple of years ago he would have laughed at himself, dismissed it as his imagination running away with him, or a trick of the light. But Stiles has seen a lot things now, and he's learned not to dismiss anything that makes the hair stand up on the back of his neck like that.

"Stiles! What's the matter?"

Scott's peering anxiously at him from his front doorstep. Stiles grabs his keys from the ignition, opens the door. Scott jogs over to him.

"Nothing, I'm fine. And hey, are we so used to Beacon Hills now that we say 'Dude, is your life in danger?' instead of 'Hi, good to see ya!'?" Stiles twists around to grab his backpack, butterflies swarming again. Whatever he saw, he isn't about to bother Scott with it. Not yet. Maybe never, because maybe it will never happen again, and that would save a whole lot of Scott worrying that Stiles is losing his mind again.

"Your heartbeat spiked like crazy. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Cracked my elbow on the steering wheel. Hurt like fuck."

Scott immediately reaches for Stiles' elbow, shoving his shirt sleeve up, running his fingers over the delicate bones.

"Other elbow," says Stiles. "And it's fine now."

Stiles half-jumps, half-falls out of the Jeep and lets Scott catch him. He kisses Scott, the kind of kiss that steals breath and stops thought, and feels Scott relax into it. How many times did Allison kiss Scott to stop him from thinking? How many times did she not tell him she'd seen strange things, heard things at home that didn't make sense? 

"I thought I saw something in the mirror," he says, pulling back far enough that he can see Scott's face in the streetlights. "Stupid, corner-of-the-eye thing. I'm nervous, I guess. Shall we go inside? I think we should go inside."

"What kind of thing?" Scott looks worried.

"Nothing. A shadow, headlights, I don't know." Stiles starts moving towards the house, and Scott follows.

Scott's home is pleasantly cool and smells of clean laundry and old wood. Stiles leads Scott upstairs to a room every bit as familiar as his own.

"Why so nervous?" Scott closes the door behind them as if they don't have the whole house to themselves. Stiles likes that. He likes doors properly closed or wide open, not-

"Hey." Scott pulls Stiles in, lacing their fingers together as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "We don't have to do anything you don't want, okay?"

Stiles stares at him. "Scott, did you just _boyfriend_ me? Seriously?"

"What? That makes no sense."

"I'm not your boyfriend. I know things have changed, but I'm not your… I'm… I-"

"Stiles." Scott smiles at him, heart-wrenchingly sincere. "You're my Stiles."

"How do you even do that? You say all these ridiculous things and somehow it's okay. How does that work?"

"It's because I'm the Alpha," says Scott, deadpan.

"It is so _not_ because of that. You've been doing it since you were ten, dude."

Scott shrugs happily and sits on the bed, tugging Stiles down with him because they're still holding hands. Stiles tries not to be nervous, and Scott watches him, which isn't helping, to be honest.

"This is kinda weird, isn't it?" Scott says eventually.

"This is _totally_ weird. This is beyond weird. But we can do weird. We're good at weird. Aren't we?"

"Yeah. I think we're pretty cool with weird."

"Thank God, because I don't think I'd know normal if it smacked me in the-"

There's a blur of dark hair and uneven jaw, and then Scott's kissing him. This is easier. Much easier. Scott's fingers are curling at the nape of Stiles' neck, and things are tingling. A lot of things are tingling. Stiles really likes the tingling. It slows his brain down and makes him very aware of his body and how amazing it would be to come all over Scott's ass.

Like most of Stiles' fantasies the image is specific, vivid and shocks him.

"I'm thinking less clothes," Scott mumbles into Stiles' neck.

"Excellent." Stiles tugs at Scott's tee-shirt and runs a hand underneath, touching his belly, making him shiver when it tickles. Scott pulls back far enough to get his shirt off over his head, and Stiles tries to do the same. But he's wearing layers and they tangle, and he thinks how much easier this was last night, when he wasn't expecting it. They'd fallen asleep watching a dumb movie, and when Stiles woke he was all snuggled up to Scott on the couch, and his dick was randomly hard, and Scott noticed and offered, half-asleep, to help him out. Things happened. Then, still dazed, they took a shower and more things happened. Good things. Mutual Things. Getting out of shirt-layers hadn't been an issue.

"Here," says Scott. "Let me help."

Stiles stops struggling and sits there while Scott pulls off his shirts in three seconds flat. 

"Huh, look at that." Stiles glances down at his own pale chest, and shivers. "You make it look so easy."

"Practice," says Scott, sliding one warm arm around Stiles' waist, pulling him in close again. 

Stiles imagines Scott stripping Kira and Allison, which he doesn't need in his head right now at all, and it must show on his face, because Scott looks horrified. 

"I didn't mean that! I meant on myself! Undressing myself! Of guy clothes!"

"I guess I'm easier." Stiles points at his chest. "No bra."

Scott laughs. "You remember that time we borrowed one of my mom's bras and took it in turns practising on each other?"

"Oh yeah," says Stiles. "Really good training, turns out. Useful."

"Totally."

They look at each other, remembering a lot of things, and Stiles lets his hand rest on Scott's thigh, rubbing gently. 

"It's okay," Stiles says. "We both know where we've been. Who we've… what we've done. It's not like we have anything to hide."

"Never," says Scott.

"So. Wanna get nekkid?"

Scott hesitates. He drops his head to one side and squints, which is Scott for 'please don't hate me but….' "Could we just make out for a little bit first?"

"Actually, that would be awesome. I'm a big fan of making out. No hickeys above the neckline, though, I have my reputation to consider."

"Yeah, right. C'm'ere."

Scott falls back on the bed, pulling Stiles down on top of him, which is interesting, makes it like it's up to Stiles to decide what they do next. Scott's mouth looks soft and tempting, so Stiles kisses him, bracketing his head with his arms, wriggling around a bit until he finds the best position to grind his cock against Scott's hip. A bit of pressure to take the edge off.

Scott answers Stiles' kisses confidently and touches Stiles' hair, his neck, the ridges of his spine, the belt loops of his jeans, and then, just briefly, skims over his ass. Stiles moans, really liking that, liking it a lot. He can feel the thrum of energy under Scott's skin, the spark. The wolf. 

It occurs to Stiles that he's only ever had sex with shape-shifters. Never a human. He can't help laughing, hiding his face in Scott's neck.

"What?" says Scott.

"This is so weird. Good. But weird." Stiles licks around the curve of Scott's ear, noting how Scott goes all trembly. 

"Yeah." Scott's voice is rough, deep. "Wanna see if it gets less weird with our pants off?"

"Sure! It's bound to help, right?"

Jeans, underwear and socks are so much easier to get off than shirts, and Stiles manages to render himself naked without further assistance from Scott. They lay back on the bed side-by-side, and Stiles' tummy flips as he notices Scott has a tube of lube in his hand. Ass-lube or dick-lube? Would Scott know the difference? Does it matter?

"Hey." Scott strokes Stiles' arm with the non-lube-holding hand. "You okay?"

"You can fuck me if you like." Stiles words come out in a rush, startling himself almost as much as they startle Scott. 

"I'd like that," Scott says, despite the startling.

"Or I could fuck you. You know, I'm versatile. I think."

"Me too. I want to. All of it. Eventually."

"Eventually?"

"I figure we could work up to that stuff."

"Right! Yeah. Definitely."

"Unless…?"

"No! No, that's fine, it's just…." He nods towards the lube in Scott's hand. Scott looks at it, surprised, as if it had appeared there of its own volition. 

"Oh shit! No, I didn't mean, I wasn't going to…. It's just for handjobs, I swear. You use it for handjobs, right? You said you do, and I do, I mean, just the hand, nothing else, no ass-stuff, I… oh God."

Stiles gets the giggles and can't stop; Scott looks totally flustered and it helps so, so much. Everything feels more him and Scott, more normal. "Come here." Stiles tugs on Scott's arm, and Scott lets himself be tugged, still clutching the lube tight. Stiles kisses him, lets the tingles build up again before gently prising Scott's fingers open and taking the warm plastic tube from him. 

Scott watches, breathing fast, as Stiles flips the cap and squirts lube over his dick, then over Scott's. Spreads it around, hissing at the sweet-harsh friction on his cock and the warm, hard twitch of Scott's. He adds more, everything wet and slick now, skin gliding against skin. Scott takes over, jerking them both in his broad strong hand. It gets simple, then. Hands and cocks and bellies and kissing and slow, rolling thrusts. Easy. Safe. Good.

God, so, _so_ good.

"Stiles."

Stiles opens his eyes to see Scott watching him. Cheeks flushed, lips wet and full from kissing, shoulders tight with the effort of jerking his dick and Stiles' at the same time.

"Yeah," says Stiles. "C'mon."

Scott's eyes close, his face scrunched up, and for an instant Stiles thinks he might shift. He lets out a yell, thrusts up one last time and Stiles glances down to see Scott's come spurting out across his belly. When he looks back up, Scott's eyes are open, pulsing red with each throb of his cock.

_Awesome._

Stiles grabs his own dick and finishes himself off quickly, so ready, wanting to come, hard and loud and then things go tight and _fuck_ , he's there. Covering Scott's hand and cock with jizz, and fuck, Scott just scoops it up and rubs it in and nuzzles at Stiles' neck, and Stiles can barely breathe, but in a good way. A very good way. Not-breathing in a good way. That.

He collapses onto his back, sticky and throbbing and fuck, everything smells of spunk and man-sweat. And wolf.

Stiles chuckles weakly to himself, and Scott flicks a ball of tacky jizz at his face. "Not cool, dude," says Stiles, although it totally is. 

"Not sorry," says Scott, grinning. "Jizz-face."

"So fucking romantic," says Stiles, and promptly falls asleep.

*

He isn't out for long, just a few minutes. He wakes feeling sticky and languid and he can't stop grinning. Sex is awesome, Scott is awesome, and this thing that's blossoming between them - whatever it is - is awesome too. 

He turns his head to find Scott sprawled out next to him, face down. 

"Hey, Scott. You awake, man?"

Scott mumbles something into the pillow.

"Cool, just checking." Stiles follows the lines of Scott's body, from his broad shoulders to the dip of his back to the generous curve of his ass. "So, I have a question."

Scott turns his head, so he can see Stiles with one eye. He looks kinda wrecked and fuzzy. Stiles can't resist a smirky grin.

"What?" says Scott.

"When did you find out you like guys?"

Scott frowns. "I like girls, dude."

Anyone else might have been alarmed by this contradiction, but Stiles is as familiar with Scott's thought processes as he is with his own, so he waits for Scott to catch up.

"Oh," says Scott, as the epiphany strikes. "You're not a girl."

"And there it is. Nothing gets past my ol' buddy Scott, huh?"

Scott pushes himself up to kneeling, running his fingers through his hair. "I never thought about it."

"Are you insulting my manliness? Because I have it on very good authority that I am, in fact, a very manly man. I'm practically dripping in testosterone. Although it probably seems pretty unremarkable in werewolf terms."

"No, I know, of course, it's just I…. It's different. You're different."

"So you're just gay for me, then?"

"So far? I guess?"

"That's cool. It's not like it matters. Just curious." Stiles flicks a bit of fluff off his knee.

Something sly creeps into Scott's eyes. Something knowing. "You want me to be. You want to think you turned me with the power of your awesome dick."

"Well, you have to admit, my dick is pretty awesome."

"So's mine."

Stiles can't help glancing at it; it's sitting quiet and plump on Scott's thigh, foreskin wrinkling over the head. He licks his lips. 

"It's just labels, right?" says Scott. "Labels don't matter."

"In a world full of shape-shifters and magic trees? No, I'd say labels are pretty redundant. I'm just curious as to why you've been holding out on me all this time."

He isn't. He's stalling. He's keeping the conversation away from the thing he needs to talk about, because he doesn't want to talk about it. And at some level, Scott knows this, and is enabling their ridiculous conversation. Which is decent of him, really.

"Anyway," says Stiles, trying to stop looking at Scott's dick and failing completely. "We made it through the first day of senior year, dude."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess we did."

"What happened to you at lunch? You missed all the excitement of senior table."

"Coach dragged me off to talk about lacrosse training. He thinks we can get to nationals this year, if Liam stays on form."

"That would be a cool way to end your high school lacrosse career."

"And yours."

"Ha! I've got to get on the team first."

Scott gives Stiles a little smile. "You're on the team, Stiles."

"How d'you know? We don't have tryouts 'til the season starts. Do we? Did we? Oh God, did I miss tryouts?"

"No, you didn't miss tryouts. But there's no way you're not going to get on the team. Coach says he sees the three of us as a unit. The 'indispensable heart of the team'."

"Ah, I get it. He knows it'll take both of us to keep Liam in line. What about Kira?"

Scott looks away. "She'll have to try out with everyone else."

"That's not fair. She's better than me! She's loads better than me!"

"She'll make the team then, won't she?"

"What if she thinks it's favouritism?"

"She won't. Anyway, it's months away yet."

"Maybe she won't want to play lacrosse any more," says Stiles. It's a horrible thought.

Scott scrubs his hands over his face. "Maybe. I dunno. I'm gonna get a shower, 'kay?"

"Sure."

Stiles watches Scott pad off to the bathroom, wondering if he should follow, or if Scott wants to be alone, to contemplate Kira and the lacrosse team, or Kira in general. He's also still thinking about the blow job Scott gave him in the shower yesterday, and maybe this would be a good opportunity to repay the favour, if only he didn't feel like a complete bastard about it. 

Stiles hears the shower start, and sits on the edge of the bed. 

He catches sight of his reflection in the window, clear against the dark gathering outside. He notices his bed-head hair, his hunched shoulders, his skinny elbows. There's something moving outside. A cat? A bird? Wait. It's not outside.

It's not outside.

Stiles looks over his shoulder but sees only the battered old armchair by the radiator. There's nothing else there. 

He could have sworn…

Stiles gets to his feet and rushes for the main light switch, grateful when the room loses its shadows, flooding with bright, white light. He hears Scott call his name from the bathroom and is about to go and join him in the shower when he glances back, a detective's reflex.

On the arm of the chair, stark and terribly real, is a single, jet-black feather.

*

"It could be from a bird," says Scott. He's naked apart from a towel slung around his hips, and he's dripping onto the rug he's standing on. He's twirling the feather between his thumb and forefinger.

All of which makes it difficult for Stiles to form sentences. "It could be not from a bird," he manages. "Or it could. We should consider not."

"Why? Not everything in the world is supernatural. We mustn't get paranoid."

As far as Stiles is concerned, paranoia has kept them alive on many occasions where logic failed. He deliberately diverts his gaze back to the chair, so that he can think more clearly. "How did it get there, then? Did a bird just fly in, moult an enormous feather on your chair and fly out again, without us noticing? Did it waft in on a breeze?"

"Maybe. Or maybe a cat brought it in."

"A cat? You don't have a cat, Scott. You have to make that funny little purring noise at the cats in the Animal Clinic before they'll let you anywhere near their cages. What the hell kind of cat would casually drop in on a werewolf's den and leave you a feather? Apart from, oh, maybe a werecat?" Stiles waves his arms about. "In which case oh, look, supernatural!"

"Okay, a cat does seem unlikely," Scott admits.

"And another thing - have you seen the size of that feather? It's freakin' huge! Can you imagine the bird that came from? Hm? That's not normal."

"Eagles can get pretty big."

"Eagles? Seriously, buddy, _eagles_?"

"Or a vulture. There was this thing on Animal Planet where-"

"I promise you, Scott, I promise you, that is not a normal feather. It didn't get here by normal means. You know what it is? It's a sign. A judgement. A signal from fate that what we're doing here is bad, really bad, and we should stop."

"What? Stiles-"

"I mean, what are we doing, huh? What is this that keeps happening between us? I'll tell you what it is. It's a fucking recipe for disaster, that's what, and for once, just for once, I'm going to heed the warnings and not go trotting down the forest path wearing the red cloak, okay?"

Scott stares at him, hurt and confused. Stiles avoids looking back, scrambling into his clothes as fast as he can, more convinced by the second that he's right.

"Stiles, nothing's changed," says Scott, voice thick and hesitant, a voice from years ago, before the bite. "You're my best friend. Sex isn't… if you don't want-"

"That's great, then, we'll stop with the sex and pretend it never happened, no harm done. I gotta go. See you tomorrow."

He's braced for Scott to argue with him, ask him to stay, but he doesn't. Stiles runs down the stairs, out of the door, into his Jeep, starts the engine and screeches away from the sidewalk, muttering an apology for abusing the gear box. 

He takes a few deep breaths, and slows down. His dad's made it very clear that terrible things would happen if he ever has to give Stiles a ticket.

Stiles' phone pings several times on the way home, but he leaves it in his pocket, hands white-knuckled from gripping the steering wheel, eyes firmly on the road. His dad's car is in the drive when he gets home, and there are lights on downstairs. Stiles realises he's hungry and heads straight from the front door to the fridge, yelling to ask his dad if he wants dinner. The fridge is woefully empty, apart from milk, a limp, long-neglected bit of broccoli and some ancient leftover salad. 

He has a bowl in one hand and a box of Fruit Loops in the other when his dad appears at the kitchen door. He's kind of rumpled-looking and wearing a robe. 

"Sorry," says Stiles. "Did I wake you?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, yeah. Long shift, I was taking a nap. Wasn't expecting you back tonight, I thought you were at Scott's?"

"Yeah, change of plan. Have you eaten?"

"Not yet. Hey, I have an idea. How about pizza from that place we went last week? I've got a real hankering for that thing with the chicken strips on."

"Okay. Have you got the number?"

"Sorry, son, don't think they deliver. Would you mind going? I really need a shower."

"Sure, if you promise to eat whatever green salad stuff I add to the order. Deal?"

"Card's in my inside jacket pocket. Single-use only, okay?"

"'Course!" It's not as if Stiles doesn't have the number memorised already. He grins fondly at his dad's retreating back.

Stiles' phone pings again as he climbs back into the Jeep. He ignores it.

*

The first thing Stiles thinks about the next morning is Scott.

Alarmingly, the thought is connected to the enthusiastic erection he woke with. He thinks about how good it felt to fuck into Scott's fist. How good his dick felt rubbing against Scott's. How warm Scott's body was, how familiar and vulnerable and how easy it was to lust after him. 

Stiles turns over and burrows his face into his pillow.

His alarm goes off.

When he picks up his phone to turn it off, he can't avoid the list of texts from Scott. He braces himself, and reads. 

> You okay, dude? I don't really get what happened. 

> I don't want things to be weird.

> I mean, not weird in a bad way. ;)

> If I did anything wrong, I'm sorry. :(

> I'll bring the feather to school tomorrow to show Lydia.

Lydia? He absolutely does not need to be explaining to Lydia that he thinks the feather is a Bad Omen to tell him his almost-relationship with Scott is wrong. Just. No. 

Stiles swears and scrambles his way out of bed, pausing only to text Scott back before he grabs a towel and rushes to the shower. 

>No Lydia! Not weird! See you at school. SSxx

He's half-way to school before he realises he has never in his life signed a text with his initials and two kisses before.

Crap.

*

Stiles checks his rear view mirror obsessively all the way to school, but he sees nothing but the back of the Jeep and, through the windows, the road behind him. He doesn't trust the world enough for it to be a relief, but it's one less thing to deal with for now. When he pulls into the parking lot he sees Kira and Scott standing by Scott's bike. They're talking and smiling in a relaxed sort of way, and something settles in Stiles' stomach. A little bit of his world is how it should be. And Kira doesn't have any reason to be upset with him any more, because he's not boning the object of her affections ever again.

Malia's standing with Liam and Mason a little way away from Kira and Scott, and Stiles waves to her as he jumps down from the Jeep. She sees him, he catches her looking, but she doesn't wave back. She ducks her head and murmurs something to Liam, and Liam looks at Stiles and then Malia's walking away.

"Hey, Stiles." Scott's there, squeezing his shoulder, radiating concern. 

"Nothing, I'm fine. Time for first period? Chemistry, I think."

"Yeah, think so."

Stiles grabs his bag and locks the Jeep. "I wonder who's gonna take us for science this year? Hope it's Lydia's mom. She's nice."

"You are so biased, man." They fall into step together as they head to the doors. "She gave me detention and extra homework last term."

"Still better than Harris," says Stiles, and Scott nods and grins sideways at him.

It feels easy. Comfortable. Maybe they can do this. Carry on as if nothing had ever happened involving nudity, and erections, and spectacular come shots. Maybe it can all be okay.

"I showed Lydia the feather," says Scott. 

Or maybe not.

"Christ, Scott, didn't you get my text?"

"Too late. She says she'll look it up for us. Why wouldn't you want to ask?"

"It's senior year, dude, she's got way better things to do. Oh, look, there's Ms Martin! Score!"

"But Stiles, wait, I-"

Stiles has never got into a chemistry class so fast in his life.

*

Stiles makes a beeline for their old table at lunchtime, but Kira stands in his path looking apologetic and awkward, and tells him he should be at the senior table with Lydia and Scott.

"So should you," Stiles points out.

"I have to go over some math notes with Malia."

"Great! Let me help. I worked with her loads on math last year, she said she always got it when I explained stuff."

"Sorry, Stiles."

Kira sounds genuinely sorry for him, and there's a bit of something else that Stiles can't quite put his finger on. He doesn't like it.

"She doesn't want to speak to me, does she?" he says, flatly.

"I'm really sorry."

She's full of compassion that Stiles can't quite accept, because part of his mind is still screaming 'you want to steal her boyfriend!' at him, and that makes him feel like a terrible person, even now he's decided not to actually steal her boyfriend at all, and even though Scott isn't technically her boyfriend at this exact moment. It's all a horrible mess of feelings he can't untangle, so he gives her a pathetic smile, and traipses off to the senior table, where Lydia and Scott are sitting side by side with the stupid big, black feather of doom on the table between them.

Stiles slides in opposite Lydia, plonking his tray down with a clatter. 

"I thought maybe it came from a vulture," Scott says, acknowledging Stiles' arrival with a nod and a smile.

"I don't remember ever seeing a vulture in Beacon Hills," Lydia says. "And even a California condor doesn't have feathers that big."

"Told you," says Stiles.

"What is it, then?" says Scott. "It is a bird feather, right?"

"Probably," says Lydia. "What did it look like, Stiles?"

"Like a feather. Exactly like it looks now."

"Not the feather, the thing it came from. Scott said you saw something before it appeared."

Lydia has this way of looking at a person, like she can see all the way into their soul, and she's using it on Stiles right now. After all they've been through together it still leaves him a gibbering wreck, and all he can stammer out is something vague about it being a mild hallucination. Of course, Lydia doesn't buy it. Lydia, of all people, never dismisses the possible implications of a hallucination, and Stiles knows he hasn't heard the last of it. And this is exactly why he didn't want her to know.

"Stiles thinks it's an omen," Scott says.

Stiles' heart sinks.

"What sort of omen?" asks Lydia, stroking her forefinger along the spine of the feather.

"Just non-specific evil," says Stiles, before Scott can leap in with incriminating details. "Bad luck, forewarnings, prophecy of doom. That kind of thing."

Lydia shrugs. "Feathers are supposed to be a reminder of the dead. A sign to the living that their lost loved ones are thinking of them and wish them well."

"Allison," Scott says, at the very moment Stiles is thinking _Mom_.

"It could be a lot of people," says Lydia, softly. "But it's only a folk tale."

"Whatever," says Scott. "If there's a chance this isn't a normal feather we should find out what it belongs to, and how it got here."

"It's probably nothing," says Lydia.

Stiles and Scott both murmur agreement. But no-one believes it.

*


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles is very familiar with Scott's patterns of behaviour around break-ups. Immediately afterwards he always has a few days where he yells and cries, and on one notable occasion made out with Lydia. After Scott broke up with Kira he went into the woods and howled every night for an entire fortnight, until Derek gave him a good talking-to. So, whatever Stiles and Scott have been doing can't have been all that important, because it's a week later and Scott's still completely calm. No wolfing-out, no crying, no random acts of despair. 

Stiles could do with a good howl himself.

And Scott isn't his only problem. He finds himself face-to-face with another truth of senior year: workload. SATs, college applications, cross-country, pre-season lacrosse training and a constant pressure to take up more extra-curriculars. Sadly 'saving Beacon Hills from the constant threat of the supernatural' does not appear on the list of approved activities guaranteed to get you into the college of your choice.

"It's a pity Sunnydale got blown up," he tells Scott one afternoon, when they're getting changed for training.

"Sunnydale's not real, dude."

"I know, but still. They had a pretty cool college right on their doorstep, with a secret hi-tech super-villain lair right underneath it. We get a high school with a dusty old vault full of dried mushrooms."

"Buffy was so hot," says Scott, gazing dreamily into the middle-distance.

"Nah. Willow and Oz all the way, man."

"Threesome?"

"Fuck, yeah." 

Scott high-fives him.

Because, of course. _Always the werewolves_ , thinks Stiles as he pulls his shirt on and follows Scott to the gym. 

Fuck.

*

Later that night Stiles is buried under piles of homework, trying (and failing) to focus, and missing Malia. Not in a romantic or horny way (except in the sense that hello, seventeen so of course horny), but mostly in a having-Malia-around kind of way. Just because their relationship hadn't worked out didn't mean he didn't like her any more. He misses her. He's come to the conclusion that he must have really pissed her off because she's definitely avoiding him, but he has no idea why. He can't talk to Scott about it, because he doesn't want things to get any weirder between them, and despite everything Stiles still wants to fuck him, and that's so messed up he doesn't know what to do with it.

He calls Lydia.

"I think Malia's avoiding me."

"Good evening, Stiles."

"Hi. Do you think she's avoiding me?"

"I think you're not dating any more. That changes a relationship. A lot."

"Yeah, but does everything completely have to stop? Our break-up was all mutual and friendly, and I thought I'd still get to hang out with her and stuff."

"Do you still have feelings for her?"

"No. Not those kinds of feelings. Just friendly feelings. I miss her."

"Give her time, Stiles."

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

"And get me those files, please?"

Stiles' dad is at work, so as soon as he's done with his call to Lydia he hacks into his dad's BHPD account and gets the files. They are quite possibly the most ordinary personnel files Stiles has ever read. Parrish is the most uncontroversial policeman imaginable. His credentials are immaculate, his reputation perfect. No sign of being even the slightest bit fire-resistant.

It's a wonder the Sheriff hasn't been suspicious from the start, honestly. Nobody's that ordinary. Especially policemen.

Stiles sends the files to Lydia and turns back to his homework. 

There's a noise. A sort of panting, huffing noise, with a click of teeth. Like a dog. 

Very slowly, Stiles turns around.

It's not a dog.

It's a… he can't quite see what it is. It's black, there's fur, and a muzzle like a dog, and perky dog-like ears, but it's standing on two legs like a person or a werewolf. It has vivid golden eyes and just as Stiles is telling himself it probably is a werewolf, and hell, he's used to werewolves, no problem - it spreads its wings.

Stiles glances at the door, trying to work out if he has time to run.

"You don't," says the creature. "You won't make it."

"I might." Stiles stands tall, lifts his chin. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."

"You're a reasonably athletic human being with exceptional intelligence and a latent magical ability you have yet to master."

"Nope. I happen to be a brilliant runner and there isn't a magical bone in my body."

The creature's big golden eyes blink. 

He still can't see its face properly. It's sticking to the shadows and all of it except those eyes is black as night. 

"What do you want?" Stiles says. The door and windows are closed and he wonders how it got in.

"I was just passing. I used to live in Beacon Hills, not far from here. My family fell on hard times so we had to move away, but we loved the old place."

"Most people end up in Beacon Hills because they fell on hard times and had to leave somewhere else."

"Ah. Is that so?"

"Look, it's lovely chatting like this but as you can see I have a lot of homework to do, and it's already getting late, so if you'd like to get to the point, issue dire threats or try to rip my throat out or whatever, that would be much appreciated."

"I'm not going to rip your throat out."

Stiles swallows. "Well, that's something to be grateful for."

"I'm not even sure I could. I mean, it sounds a bit gory to me. Stuff would get stuck between your teeth and… yuk. Who does that?"

"Yeah, well, I have some strange friends. So, what do you want?"

"Nothing. Like I said, I was just passing."

"Right. Well, how about telling me your name?" Names have power. Names can be very revealing.

"Button."

"Excuse me?"

"My name's Button. What's yours?"

"Stiles. Seriously, _Button_?" 

"It's sort of a nickname. What's Stiles?"

"Yeah, nickname."

"It's nice to meet you, Stiles."

"Sure. Now, as I was saying, I have a lot to do, so…."

"I can tell you're unhappy. We could talk about it, if you like. I'm a very good listener."

"No offence, but why would I go around sharing my innermost thoughts and feelings with some dog-man-thing that materialised in my bedroom in the middle of the night?"

"Sometimes it's easier to confide in a stranger."

"That's what perverts in kid safety ads say when they're about to lure someone into their car."

"Oh no! That's not what I meant at all. I wouldn't do that."

Stiles slumps into his desk chair, rubbing at his forehead where a headache is clustering. "Well, that's good to know."

"I don't even have a car."

"I guess that's-" Stiles looks up.

The creature has gone.

"Hey." Stiles twists the desk lamp around to shine directly in the shadows where the creature had been lurking. But there's nothing there. Not even a feather.

"Fuck," says Stiles.

And then he calls Lydia again.

*

Stiles barely gets to school on time the next day. He's short on sleep and deeply pissed that he's losing his mind. Again. 

Scott's waiting for him by his locker. 

"I want you to stay at my house tonight," Scott says, no preamble. 

"Been talking to Lydia?" There are a lot of books in Stiles' locker, but he has no idea which ones to pick up, what classes he has, or, actually, what day it is.

"She called me right after she spoke to you. She's worried about you."

"Banshee-worried or just Lydia-worried? I didn't get the sense she'd got notice of my imminent death lately."

"I don't care. I want you to be safe."

Scott squeezes Stiles' shoulder, so warm and reassuring that Stiles could weep. 

"I'm fine," he says. "I'm not seeing things, I can't be, because the feather was real, right? No insanity for Stiles. Just a weird supernatural stalker who wants me to talk about my feelings."

"What feelings?" says Scott, suspiciously.

"I don't know, Scott. I didn't get to ask because it fucking _disappeared_."

"Sorry." Scott's hand is still on his shoulder, working into the solid knots of muscle. 

"It's nothing I can't handle. If it had wanted to do anything it could have, and it didn't. It's not the scariest supernatural being I've had in my room, I can tell you that much. Not by a long way. Do we have Econ. first this morning?"

"No, English. So you'll come to my house after school?"

"Tonight? No. Tonight I'm finishing a stupid amount of calculus and sleeping for at least seven hours."

"Will you at least call me if anything happens? Promise me, Stiles. Anything at all. Call me. Okay?"

There's an edge of a growl to his voice. 'Call me _first_ ', is what he means. Stiles can see a tiny bit of hurt in Scott's eyes, that last night Stiles reached out to Lydia and not to him.

"Yeah, man, 'course. I'll text you a blow-by-blow account of my entire evening, if you want."

Scott pats his shoulder, and Stiles takes his Econ. books to English.

*

On Saturday they go out into the woods for Scott to get some training in with Liam. Stiles drives them there and perches on a pile of logs to watch. It looks a bit too much like wolf-fun to be proper training, to Stiles' mind. Whatever manoeuvre Scott puts Liam through ends up with the two of them rolling around in leaves, wrestling and laughing. 

Stiles watches Liam clamber up a tree, ready to drop on Scott for the twentieth time that afternoon, and yawns.

"Catching flies, Stiles?"

Stiles jumps, panic firing up his spine until he realises it's Derek. "Shit. Give a guy some warning."

At least he's not naked. They had to have a long talk about the naked after Derek learned to full-shift and apparently forgot about human decency. 

Derek shrugs one shoulder. "I gave you plenty of warning. Not my fault you weren't paying attention. Hey, Scott!"

Stiles watches Derek's ass twitch as he walks over to Scott, who's turned around to greet him, and wonders what it would be like if one day Derek shifted back from full-wolf but kept the cute wolf-ears and the tail. He's grinning to himself when Liam drops out of the tree to try and get in a swipe at Derek. Derek swats him off like a bug, not even breaking stride, and Liam slams into a nearby tree-trunk. He slides down, groaning loudly. 

"Be less obvious," Derek tells him, without as much as a glance in the kid's direction. "Hey, Scott, can we talk?"

"Sure." Scott helps Liam up and they join Stiles at his log-pile. Liam rubs his shoulder and glares at Derek, who ignores him.

"There's a new alpha in town," Derek says. "He attacked Braeden a few days ago, up near Lookout Point."

"Is she okay?" Scott asks, brow furrowing.

"She's fine, got a few bullets in him but couldn't slow him down."

"Is he generally rabid or just after her?" Stiles says. 

"I don't know. Braeden says he doesn't look familiar, but she's made a lot of enemies over the years, and his shape was a long way from human."

"We'll find him," Scott says. "See what he wants."

"Sounds to me like he wants a severe ass-kicking," says Stiles.

Scott rubs Liam's shoulder, and Stiles feels jealous, which is ridiculous on so many levels. He hates himself sometimes. 

"Be careful," Derek says. "Remember there's strength in numbers. As far as we know he doesn't have a pack."

"Do you have a plan?" asks Scott.

"Meet me at Lookout Point at sunset tonight. We'll pick up his scent."

"And when we catch him?" says Scott.

Derek shrugs. "That depends on him." There's more than a hint of a growl in Derek's voice. 

"This alpha," says Stiles. "I don't suppose it's got feathers?"

Of course, everyone looks at him as if he's mad.

*

"You're not coming tonight," Scott tells Stiles, when Stiles drops him off at home a couple of hours before sunset.

"What d'ya mean, I'm not coming?"

"I mean you're not coming to track the alpha. It's too dangerous."

"Seriously, Scott? We're still doing this? I thought we were so far past this crap."

"You're human."

"So's Braeden."

"And she's in the hospital. I won't let that be you."

Stiles grips the steering wheel so hard his fingers go numb. 

"Stiles, I'll text you, okay? And it's not like I'm going alone."

An image lights up in Stiles' head: Scott advancing on a lone, terrified alpha, flanked by Kira and Malia and Liam and Derek. All fangs and claws and wolf-rage, sharp with the instinct to protect their pack, their territory, their people. 

"I've got this," Scott says. "I need you to be safe."

"And I need you safe, dumb-ass."

Scott's expression is soft, and he leans in to Stiles, so close Stiles thinks he might- but no. Scott pats Stiles' arm, protective, friendly, and nods. "I promise."

"Well that's all right then," says Stiles.

It isn't.

*

It's dark and Stiles is pacing his room, staring at his phone which is giving him _nothing_ , when suddenly it rings. He fumbles, drops it, throws himself under the bed to retrieve it, and bangs his head on the chair on his way back up. 

It's Lydia.

*

Derek's waiting for them at the clearing, the closest Stiles could drive to Lookout Point. Derek carries Scott laid out across his strong, muscular forearms. They're both covered in blood. Must be Scott's blood because Derek looks fine, he must have carried Scott across the ravine and through the woods for miles to get here and God, it's everywhere, so much blood, black and red and Scott's lying limp and Stiles is crying, his cheeks sting with it and he thinks he's too late. 

Lydia has a firm grip on his arm. She tells him it's okay, that she'd know, but he can't believe her, and then Scott jerks in Derek's arms and coughs up black blood. Stiles flails towards him, wrenching free of Lydia's hold. 

"Back to the loft," Derek says. "I can fix him up there."

Stiles holds the Jeep door open for him. "Where's the others?"

"What others?" says Derek.

"The rest of the pack." Stiles strokes Scott's hair back from his forehead, cups his head to protect his skull as Derek gets him laid out on the back seat. Scott's unconscious again, but still breathing. "Kira, Malia, Liam? Where is everybody?"

"They never turned up," says Derek. "Just Scott. And he was early, the idiot. He should have waited."

"Kira's at a gallery opening with her mother," says Lydia. "Malia's studying, and I think Liam and Mason were going on some kind of double date to the movies."

"But Liam was there when Derek told us! He knew what Scott was facing!"

Derek slid himself in next to Scott. "We need to go, Stiles. Now."

Lydia and Stiles get in and Stiles starts the ignition with shaking hands. He slams the Jeep into reverse. "I don't care who he was trying to protect. I'm going to fucking kill him."

"No," says Lydia, with uncanny certainty. "You're not."

*

Back at Derek's loft, Scott's injuries are horribly clear. He's unconscious but squirming in pain, even after Derek's taken it from him. His right arm hangs limp at a sickening angle, there's a huge gash across his chest and an even bigger one across his belly, and it's all Stiles can do to keep himself from puking. Derek gets Stiles and Lydia to hold Scott still while he cleans him up. Stiles ignores the panic and nausea and does as he's told, not-looking, until he does look, and what he sees is Derek stuffing bits of Scott's insides actually _back inside_ , and then it's a race against time until Derek's stitched his belly back up and stands back to check his handiwork and Stiles can let Scott go. 

And then Stiles actually does throw up, although, thank God, he makes it to the bathroom first. 

When he's done Lydia is waiting outside the bathroom door with a cool washcloth that feels like bliss against his panic-fevered skin. She takes him up to the roof where they sit, hand in hand, staring at the moon.

Once upon a time this was the stuff Stiles' dreams were made of. The irony is not lost on him.

"It's okay to admit it, you know," Lydia says.

"What? That I'm squeamish about disembowelling, or re-embowelling, or whatever that gore-fest was?"

"That you have feelings for Scott."

"Of course I have feelings for Scott. I've always had feelings for Scott. We're like brothers."

Lydia shook her head. "Something changed."

"Nothing changed. He's my best friend and I'm terrified because he would have died tonight if Derek hadn't found him. You of all people should know how that feels."

"Stiles." She grips his hand so tight it hurts, nails digging into the soft flesh of his palm. "I know you're upset, but don't. Don't."

"Shit. I'm sorry. Sorry. God." He doesn't even try to take his hand away, just registers the pain, clings to it for a bit until she releases the pressure. Their fingers curl together, and Stiles breathes out a long, harsh sigh. "Something happened. Something nice. But it's not happening any more. And I don't care. No, that's a lie. I do care. But I decided it's not what I want, and it's not what he wants, so it's not. Anything."

"I don't think he has the faintest idea what he wants." Lydia rubs her thumb softly over Stiles' palm. "But for a day or two there he looked happier than I've seen him look in years."

"Yeah," says Stiles. The moon is almost full, flooding the sky with slate-grey light. "Me too. It sucks, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. See, it wasn't so hard to share, was it?"

Stiles stares up at the stars, and lets the tears fall.

*

Stiles wakes the next morning to his alarm. He checks his phone. There's a text from Scott, sent a few minutes ago.

> Sorry.

Stiles lets his phone slip from his hand onto the bed, and flops back with a sigh.

Scott's too weak to leave the house that weekend. Melissa's furious with him for taking such a stupid risk, and Stiles is so much in agreement with her on this point that he wants to send her a fruit basket to show his appreciation. 

Stiles spends the weekend with his father, trying to work out who the alpha is. 

They find nothing.

*

Scott's back at school on Monday, and he makes a beeline for Stiles in home room.

"You haven't answered any of my texts, Stiles. Is your phone okay? Are you okay?" He's all flustered and worried.

"No, I haven't answered any of your texts. Yes, my phone is okay. And no, I am _not_ okay. I am not okay that there's a rogue alpha out there trying to kill you and I am definitely not okay with you getting yourself hurt!"

"Oh." Scott drops his bag by his desk with a sad little thump. "You're still mad at me."

"Damn right I'm mad at you! What on earth were you thinking, Scott, going out there alone? I get that you didn't want to take the fragile, puny human, but what about Kira, Malia, Liam?"

"They all had plans. I didn't want to ruin their night. I didn't think there would be any trouble, I was only trying to find out what he wanted."

"Well, now you know that what he wanted was to make you dead! And can I just say, for the record, that I never want to see that much carnage on any person ever again? And especially not on you. I've got enough to have fucking nightmares about, dude!"

"I'm sorry." Scott's head drooped. "It all went wrong."

"Too fucking right it did."

Stiles flings himself down in his seat. He can hear Scott breathing right behind him; he can practically feel his distress. He turns around.

"Are you okay? Really? Did you heal?"

Scott gives him the same sheepish look he used to give his mom when one of them had broken something. "Yes. I really am sorry, Stiles. I had no idea it would be that strong and fast. It was stronger than Peter, man. Loads stronger. If Derek hadn't come along…" Scott shrugs and Stiles' blood runs cold.

"We need a new plan," Stiles says. "One that involves less confrontation. Derek's going to talk with Satomi today. She won't go looking for a fight, but Derek thinks she'll be willing to keep a look out and she'll definitely defend her territory if the alpha gets close."

"Good. I'm going to talk to my boss, see if he's got any ideas, although he's already said he doesn't recognise him from my description or Braeden's."

"I'll tell Derek to met us there. So long as I'm not too squishy for your little wolfy adventure this time."

"You've never been squishy," says Scott, with a stupid smile that shows his stupid dimples.

Stiles always forgives him way too fast.

*

Stiles takes Scott to the animal clinic after school, because Scott's bike isn't working, and it gives Stiles some time to conspicuously ignore him. When they arrive the sign's already turned to 'closed' and Derek and Deaton are sitting at the examination table in the back, drinking tea, which goes to show how different Derek is these days. It baffles Stiles, how their lives are made up of these contradictory moments of extreme terror and absurd normality. It baffles him even more that it doesn't freak him out half as much as it should. The terror just makes him cling to the normality that bit harder.

Deaton insists on examining Scott. All his wounds have gone except the big slice across his belly, and even that has faded to a thin red line. Stiles can't bring himself to look at it.

"Satomi and her pack will patrol tonight," Derek says, as Scott pulls his shirt back on. "One of her betas thinks he might have seen him a few days ago, but it was from a distance, so he couldn't be sure. Said he looked more beast than wolf." 

"Is that why he was so strong?" Scott says. 

Derek and Deaton exchanged a glance. "We don't know," says Derek. 

"It's especially surprising as he doesn't appear to have a pack," Deaton adds.

Stiles wonders what that glance was about. Unless….

"Maybe it's not because the alpha was strong," Stiles says. "Maybe it's because Scott is weak."

"What?" Scott looks betrayed.

"Because you were alone."

"It doesn't work that way! I fought Peter on my own, didn't I? I've fought lots of battles alone! The pack are still with me, even when they're not actually _with_ me."

"I think it's best not to jump to any conclusions at this stage," says Deaton. "Let's see what Derek and Satomi can find out from their patrols, and I've got a few contacts. When we've got more information, then we can decide exactly what the challenge is we're facing."

Stiles is far from convinced. 

"Dude, I know I scared you," Scott says. "I won't try and face him alone again. I promise. Okay? Now please, can we get past this and move on?"

Scott looks miserable, and Deaton and Derek are very carefully focusing on their tea and not getting involved. They haven't backed him up, Stiles realises. Maybe he got it wrong. Maybe the alpha is that strong. In which case, it's fucking terrifying.

"Okay, buddy," Stiles says. "Just don't get yourself ripped apart all by yourself again." Then, softly. "We need you, Scott."

_I_ need you.

"I know," says Scott, and hugs him. It takes him by surprise, the hug, but it's warm and strong and really, really good, so Stiles lets himself sink into it.

Deaton drains his tea and goes to switch the sign to open. Scott washes his hands, ready for work. Stiles leaves with Derek, and they're in the parking lot, Stiles has just said goodbye, when Derek hesitates. 

"Have you seen Malia lately?" he asks.

"No," says Stiles.

"I think she misses you. You should talk to her."

Derek's in his car before Stiles can ask him what the fuck he means, so he goes and sits in his Jeep and bangs his head on the steering wheel a few times. 

Life is never fucking simple.

*


	3. Chapter 3

When Stiles glances at the mirror in the boys' bathroom and sees a shadow behind him, he's not surprised. He's been expecting it, because shit like this never just stops. He's alone. He has a free period before lunch and he came to pee before hitting up the library for his history project. 

What the hell? It's a boring project anyway.

He flicks his phone on, beaming light at the creature before it can run, and gets a proper look at it for the first time. It's roughly the same height as Stiles, mostly humanoid except for a covering of dense black fur. It has ears like a dog, a tail, and big, black wings, half-spread, feathers quivering in the draught from an open window. It looks a lot like a weredog, apart from the wings. Or how Stiles imagines, with his extensive experience of weres in general, a weredog might look.

"Yo, _Butt_ ," Stiles says.

"It's Button," says the creature. He shields his eyes from the glare of Stiles' phone with one arm. "Could you turn that off, please? It's very bright."

"Sure." Stiles slips his phone into his pocket. He leans back against the sink and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "So, what's the deal, Button? Are you stalking me? Haunting me? I have to say, if you're aiming at menacing I've seen much worse."

"Not at all. I'm just visiting."

"Strange place for a visit. You're not really downgrading your stranger danger status any by loitering in the boys' room."

"You're very rarely alone anywhere else."

"Right, so you can't pop up when there's other people around? That's good to know."

"It's not that."

"Bad luck for you, I'm a sociable kinda guy."

"I'm on your side, Stiles. Don't you need someone on your side?"

"I'm blessed with many helpful and loving friends, thanks, quite a lot of whom have big teeth and claws and a powerful streak of loyalty. How about you? Got a little doggie pack to run with, or are you all alone?"

Button tenses, nostrils flaring. He looks annoyed for the first time since they met. "You only really have Scott," he says. "And even that's complicated, isn't it?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Secrets." Button takes a step closer, waggling his fingers. "You have all these secrets around you."

"Well, buddy, you're not one of them. And thanks for the offer, but I keep my talking therapy strictly on a professional and mostly-human basis. So. Off you pop. Don't make me call Scott, unless you want your little doggy ass firmly spanked."

Button smiles. It isn't a very nice smile. A shiver runs down Stiles' spine.

He's about to up the scale of threats when the door swings open and someone comes in. He's a junior: Stiles recognises him from lacrosse trials. Stiles watches Button closely, expecting him to disappear or hide. But he just stands there with that nasty grin on his face, and watches Stiles right back.

The junior nods at Stiles in acknowledgement and walks straight past him to the urinals, where he gets his dick out and pees with a fucking great winged dog-person next to him, without batting an eyelid. Because he doesn't notice.

Because he can't see him. 

Stiles makes a show of washing his hands, suddenly aware it might look weird if he was just hanging out in the bathroom talking to himself. He pulls out his phone, keeping an eye on Button all the while, and texts Scott while the kid's finishing up.

> Bathroom ground floor now

He presses send as the kid leaves. 

"Now do you understand?" says Button.

"That I'm the only one who can see you? Well, lucky Stiles, eh? Look, are you trying to send me insane? Because you're not the first and I've proven myself remarkably resilient in that area."

"Believe it or not, Stiles, I'm here to help you."

The door bursts open again, slamming into the wall with a loud bang this time, as Scott charges in. He grabs Stiles by the arm, pulls him close so he can check him over, gives him a quick hug. "I got your text! Are you okay? What's up?"

Stiles turns around, but of course, Button is gone.

"I think I have a problem," says Stiles. "Let's find Lydia."

*

"Sometimes I think that bestiary's a waste of wood pulp," Stiles grumbles. The three of them are huddled around one end of the table at lunch, even though there's no-one else sitting with them. As usual. 

"It has its limitations," says Lydia.

"I don't understand," says Scott. "Why you, Stiles?"

"That's a question I ask myself on a daily basis. About all sorts of things," says Stiles.

"What does it do when it materialises?" asks Lydia.

"Not much. It lurks a bit. Tries to get me to talk about my feelings."

"Be serious, Stiles," says Lydia. "What does it do?"

"I am deadly serious! It wants to talk. It must be trying to get something out of me but I have no idea what. It's not specific."

"Maybe you should give it a little bit of what it wants." Lydia puts the bestiary back in her bag. "Talk to it."

"Oh great, yeah, because it's always a fantastic idea to do what the bad guy wants."

Stiles looks away, exasperated and a bit panicky. His eyes come to rest on Malia, over at what's now clearly her table, used to be his and Scott's. She's there with Liam, Mason, Kira and Danny, who's also repeating a year after all that time in hospital. Stiles tries to catch her eye but she looks away, even though he's sure she noticed him. She says something to Kira that makes her look worried and bite her lip, sad where she'd been laughing a second before. And Stiles can't bear it.

"Stiles, are you okay?"

Scott's giving him the worried-alpha look, his hand resting on Stiles' shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah. It's just, everything feels wrong since we came back to school, you know?"

"He has a point," says Lydia. "Maybe Stiles' imaginary friend isn't our biggest issue. Maybe we should be looking closer to home."

"What d'you mean?" says Scott.

"That," says Lydia, pointing at Malia's table. "What's going on over there. Separately from what's going on over here. Your pack, Scott."

"We're drifting apart, man," says Stiles. "Even Lydia, now she's spending all her time with Deputy Flawless. No offence, Lyds."

"He's not flawless," says Lydia. "He slept in ten minutes after the alarm yesterday. He was only half an hour early for work. But Stiles is right, Scott."

"We fucked up, dude," says Stiles. 

Scott gives his arm a little squeeze. "Nothing's fucked up. It's a period of readjustment. Relationships change, but they're still pack. My first priority has to be you. You're staying with me tonight. I'm not going to risk anything else happening to you."

Stiles glances back at Kira. She's watching Scott. "No. No, I'm not. I'm going to go home and eat take-out with my Dad, because that's what I planned to do and so that's what I'm doing. If anything happens, I'll text you. Both of you. But I refuse to stop living my already way too abnormal life just because some stupid flying dog is stalking me. Okay?"

He maybe said it too loud, or too harshly. Scott looks upset. Stiles decides not to care. 

"I'm going to the library," Lydia announces. "Think about what I said. And do try and grow up, the pair of you. We're seniors now."

"Hey," says Stiles, but she's disappeared into the lunchtime crowd before he can ask her what she meant.

*

Stiles finds Liam doing push-ups in the locker room after school. He has a backpack on, into which Mason is putting weights.

"Sorry to break up whatever little experiment you have going on here, boys, but I need to talk to Liam."

"Talk away," says Liam. "I can do this and talk at the same time."

"Yeah, well, I don't particularly want to talk to your ass, so."

"It's a cute ass," says Mason. 

Liam sputters and collapses on the floor.

"I'll take your word for that," says Stiles. "Liam. Talk. Now."

Liam scowls at him, but slips out of the backpack and sits on the bench opposite, all bare-chested and ridiculous. Honestly, werewolves. Mason shows no sign of leaving, so Stiles flaps a hand at him to get him to sit down next to Liam.

"I take it you heard what happened with Scott and the alpha," Stiles says.

"Of course I did," Liam says. "I spent hours at his house the weekend after. We watched lacrosse videos to cheer him up."

Stiles swallows a little sting of jealousy. "You did? Well, that was nice of you."

"Someone had to, seeing as you were off sulking."

"I was not sulking. I was angry. Very, very angry. And you should have been too."

"He's the alpha," says Liam. "I figured he knew what he was doing."

"Seriously? You're not that new, surely."

Liam blinks at him, but Mason nods wisely. 

"What did he say to you?" Stiles asks. 

"He said he could handle it," Liam says, fiddling with the hem of his top. "I thought Derek would be there, and he said you weren't going either, so I figured it must be okay."

"Oh, for fuck's sake. He played us? What's wrong with him?"

"I think he's trying to protect you," Mason says. "In a twisted kind of way."

"And since when are you the expert on Scott?" Stiles snaps. 

"Since he became responsible for my best friend's safety," says Mason. It's a bit worrying that the kid isn't remotely scared of him, but Stiles can't fault his loyalty.

"From now on we're together," says Stiles. "All of us. Whatever Scott does, we all back him up, and we don't take no for an answer, okay?"

"Fine by me," says Liam.

"Kira and Malia, too,' says Stiles.

Liam and Mason exchange a look. A knowing, worried sort of look. 

Stiles narrows his eyes. "What?"

"Nothing," says Liam.

"I'll talk to them," says Stiles. 

"Um, don't bother," Mason says. "We'll fill them in."

"Why?" Stiles keeps eye contact, wishes he could hear heartbeats.

"Because we've got study group tonight at Kira's," Mason says, very very calmly. "Our math teacher is off sick and Malia's panicking."

"She's not the only one," says Liam.

"Kira's dad wants to help," Mason adds.

Stiles imagines them at Kira's house, laughing and hanging out and helping Malia, and he feels really old and tired and sad, and all the fight goes out of him. 

"Okay," he says. "Just tell them it's important. And get Lydia's notes. You can't go wrong with Lydia's notes."

He's vaguely aware of them exchanging another one of those looks as he leaves, but he really can't be bothered anymore.

*

Stiles gets home that night to find his dad making chicken enchiladas. It smells absolutely mouthwatering, and his dad is whistling happily in the kitchen, so Stiles doesn't remind him it wasn't his turn to cook. They eat together in front of the TV, watching _Castle_ and pulling it apart for every inaccuracy of police procedure they can find. Then there's this guy in it who looks so much like Derek Hale they collapse in snorting giggles. His dad says Stana Katic is hot, and Stiles agrees, and that's a bit gross because seriously, she's too young for his dad and probably a bit old for him. But on the other hand, there's something cool about it too. 

When his dad asks him how senior year's going, Stiles misses out the part about potentially hallucinatory hell-beasts in the boys room, doesn't mention how worried sick he is that Scott could get himself hurt, and focuses instead on the mountain of homework and the constant pressure. His dad gives him a look, full of compassion and understanding. "A bit lonely?" he asks, because he knows how much Stiles loved studying with Malia, how great it was for his concentration, and it really hits a nerve so Stiles admits it, with a small nod, picking fluff off his shirt.

His dad nudges his shoulder. "I've got an idea, son. Why don't you leave the dishes, go over to Scott's and study there? Sleep over if you want."

"Nah, it's okay, Dad."

"You've got a long road ahead of you this year, son. Don't try and do it alone."

Stiles thinks about feathers and blood and lying in a bed that seems too big, and all the time he spent explaining how triangles worked to Scott back in fourth grade, and sighs. "Maybe you're right. Just to study."

"Call him now. I'll stack the dishwasher."

"Thanks, Dad." 

The sheriff gives him a warm, unexpected hug, and takes the dishes to the kitchen, whistling.

*

Scott is really pleased to see him. His mom's at work so they spread their books out on the dining table, and Stiles arms himself with coloured pens, while Scott rifles his index cards. It amazes Stiles that they are actually doing this. They're studying, like normal high school students, rather than dropping everything to plunge into the chaos of supernatural life-and-death. It's healthy, as far as any kind of life near an activated nemeton can be.

Scott's a bit distracting. He has a habit of rolling his pencil against his teeth, tongue darting out from time to time to lick the wood. Stiles can hear the steady rhythm of Scott's breathing and it soothes him, makes him sleepy. He startles when his phone rings, realises his head was on its way to the table. 

"Just checking if you're staying at Scott's, son. I'm going to bed, early shift tomorrow."

Scott raises his eyebrow. He can hear, of course. 

"Is it okay, dude?" Stiles asks.

"I want you to," says Scott.

"Thanks," says Stiles, with a weary smile. He's really not mad at Scott any more, he realises. All that's left is relief that he's okay, and the exhaustion that comes with letting go of everything else.

Scott starts packing their books away while Stiles finishes his call. 

"It's only nine-thirty, man," Stiles points out, slipping his phone back in his pocket.

"You look like you're about to pass out on your books. You can't do math while you're that exhausted. And calculus sucks, right?"

"So much," Stiles agrees.

"You get first go in the bathroom. I'll be up in a minute."

Stiles yawns, and drags himself up the stairs.

*

It's dark when Stiles wakes. He blinks a few times, identifying shapes and shadows around him. He's in Scott's room. Scott's bed. His mouth still tastes of toothpaste and he's lying on top of the covers, but there's a blanket over him. That's right. He got washed and ready for bed, and then he just lay down for a minute while he waited for Scott. Scott must have covered him with the blanket.

Stiles swallows, and turns his head. Scott's there, lying on his front, hugging his pillow. His shoulders are bare and he has the echo of a smile on his lips. 

Stiles' heart goes all full and warm, with a love for his best friend that goes back pretty much as far as he can remember. And a bit extra, that's new. 

He wiggles under the duvet, where he can feel the warmth radiating off Scott even without touching him. Stiles enjoys a stretch and lets his eyes drift closed. 

_The woods are dark, the cliff is high, and the lights of Beacon Hills are laid out below, twinkling like stars. They're all there, sitting round a campfire telling stories, Malia's head in Stiles' lap, Scott's arm around his shoulders. Kira's got a pile of black feathers in her arms and she's talking about foxes, and for a moment Stiles is afraid. It passes, the warmth of Scott's body reassuring, comforting him. Allison's knitting Isaac a scarf, she's modelling it on him, testing it for length (it's ridiculously long), and Lydia and Jackson are arguing. Jackson has a stupid haircut, one side long, trailing over his eyes, making him squint. Stiles approves._

_Derek's in wolf form, curled at Erica's feet, his head resting on Boyd's knee._

_And then, one by one, they start to fade. Jackson first, leaving Lydia confused, crying out for him. Erica and Boyd, then Isaac, and Derek's crying. Lydia screams and Allison's gone, and Stiles feels the old guilt, the old pain, unbearable, twisting in him. Malia and Kira vanish in a mist of terror, and then Lydia, God, Lydia, out she winks, gone in a blink, and Stiles sobs and grabs hold of Scott and won't let go but there's claws and blood and Scott's ripped to pieces while Derek howls his misery to the endless black sky and Stiles can do nothing, nothing, nothing-_

"Stiles? You okay?"

Stiles jerks awake. That's Scott's voice. Really Scott's voice. There's light in the room, and Scott's hand is on his arm, firm and steady. There's no blood. No claws. The details fade, leaving Stiles horrified, relieved that Scott's okay, with only the dimmest idea of what harm the dream had brought him to. The door to Stiles' sleep-mind closes, and Scott's still there. 

"Nightmare?" Scott asks.

Stiles nods, and that's all that's needed. The rest goes unsaid, because nightmares are a thing that happens to them all the time. How sick is that? He must look scared, though, because Scott gets up on his knees and pulls Stiles into a hug. And perhaps he _is_ scared, because he leans into it, clings a bit, buries his face in Scott's neck. Scott strokes his back. Soothing. Nice. Stiles raises his head, and Scott kisses him. It sends a thrum of pleasure down to Stiles' belly, makes the hairs on the back of his arms stand up. It beats the hell out of thinking about horrific nightmares, and Stiles lets his tongue slip easily into Scott's mouth.

Next thing he knows, he's straddling Scott's thighs and Scott's hands are sliding up the back of his t-shirt, pressing their way along his spine. It's so, so simple to press his hips into Scott's, their dicks slotting into a side-by-side slide hampered only by Stiles' boxers and Scott's thin cotton sleep-shorts.

"Hey," Stiles says. "We could-"

Scott's hand shimmies between their bodies and deftly hooks his cock out through the opening in his sleep pants.

"Huh, that works." Stiles does the same, and then pushes forwards, nothing interfering with the rough dick-to-dick friction this time.

"That really works," says Scott. There's a flush across his cheekbones, a quiver in his voice. Stiles nips at his lower lip, hands on Scott's shoulders to steady himself as he rolls his hips.

Scott slicks his hand with lube from the nightstand before he wraps it around both their dicks and, fuck. Fuck, that's good. It's like Scott's hand is a fucking big blanket wrapping them both up together like a burrito, or maybe a sleeping bag or maybe-

-Holy fuck.

Scott's other hand is resting on Stiles' butt, cupping one cheek, encouraging him to keep moving, keep thrusting. But Scott's _hand_ is on Stiles' _ass_ , and it's like he pressed a button, flipped them into a higher gear. Stiles' balls are full and telling Stiles insistently that they'd like to make a big come-fountain any minute now, the tip of his dick is tingling something fierce. Scott's hand is on his bare ass, and Scott's cock is warm and velvety against his and would look so fucking good covered in his come and-

\- And then it is. And it does. It looks so fucking good. And Stiles hangs on to Scott for dear life as his orgasm steals his breath and makes his whole body spasm with rough, tight pleasure. 

"God, that's hot," Scott pants. "Fuck, Stiles, you… it… oh, fuck."

Scott jerks himself the rest of the way, and the fact that he's rubbing Stiles' come over the slick head of his cock with every stroke makes Stiles' own dick do a feeble little dry-jerk of its own. Scott's orgasm is spectacular, long jets of come striping his chest and Stiles' - he comes a lot, Stiles has noticed, probably a werewolf thing, and damn, it's wrong how much that thought turns him on, but it's awesome. Scott is awesome. 

They sit there, Scott kneeling on the bed with Stiles in his lap, clinging stickily to each other, catching their breath.

"Well," says Stiles, eventually. Scott nuzzles into his neck. "So we did that again."

Scott tenses slightly, but Stiles feels good, all wrapped up in Scott like this, intimate and fucked-out, it feels _good_. 

"Does this make us secret fuckbuddies again?" says Stiles.

"I honestly don't care. About the secret part, I mean." Stiles feels Scott smile against his skin. "I care about the other part quite a lot."

"If you and Kira have a chance, I don't want to get in the way."

"Okay." Scott kisses his shoulder.

That isn't what Stiles had expected. He wished for 'Kira and I are over', recklessly hoped for 'I don't care', but 'okay' is horrible. And now he's thought of Kira, his conscience is screaming at him again, and for some reason he thinks about that stupid black feather.

"Maybe we shouldn't…." Stiles can't finish the sentence because he isn't even exactly sure what part of what they just did it was that they shouldn't be doing.

Well, the good parts, probably. Life always seems to go that way.

"Stiles, we're both single. We can have sex with whoever we like."

Right. Sex. That's what this is. That's an actual term. A definition. A label. He can work with that.

"Okay," he says, tentatively.

"You're not still worried about the whole bad omen thing, are you?"

"No, but I am worried about the pack, and I don't want anyone to get hurt. More hurt. Jesus, I don't know. This is just sex, right?"

Scott raises his head. His thumb rubs delicious little circles into the base of Stiles' spine. "Yeah?"

Stiles grins. "Well, not just sex. Pretty fucking awesome sex, actually."

Scott grins back. "Totally. How about fucking awesome shower sex?"

"Woah there, Scotty-boy. Not all of us have the refractory period of a werewolf."

Scott glances down between them, and raises an eyebrow. "You don't?"

Stiles follows his gaze. "Oh. Well. Would you look at that?"

"In the shower," says Scott, and drags him to the bathroom.

*

Stiles gives Scott a ride to school the next day because Scott's bike still won't start. Lydia notices them getting out of the Jeep together. There's a very specific look on her face.

Stiles ignores it.

*

Stiles has not finished his calculus homework, and when he compounds this crime by answering his phone in class, he earns himself lunchtime detention tidying the math cupboard. It's a dusty, poky room up on the second floor, full of old text books, wonky models of three dimensional shapes and antique calculators. 

It's probably still better than lunch with Lydia and her Knowing Looks.

As it turns out, he's not alone. The second time he turns to the shelves by the door, Button's perching on the step ladder in front of them.

"Oh, it's only you," Stiles says. "Don't know if you've heard but we do have an actual threat to worry about. Big alpha werewolf with claws and fangs. So if you're hoping to scare me, hard luck, my friend. You don't come close."

"I'm really not trying to frighten you. I wouldn't be here at all if you didn't need my help."

"God, you're ridiculous. Look, I'm not in the mood. Stay if you want, sit there with your feathers and your fur and your stupid ears. I can ignore you."

"There's a lot of ignoring going on, isn't there?" Button curls his wings around himself and runs his fur-backed fingers over the sleek black feathers at the edge. It looks like he's hugging himself.

"Ignoring, secrets, lies, yes, I know. And I had sex with Scott again and I shouldn't, because of Kira and her misery face, but I really like having sex with him, and I'm terrified he'll do something stupid and I love him, in all sorts of ways, some of which I only recently discovered, so. Now I have to tidy this stupid cupboard because Derek texted me in class and I can't explain to my math teacher that I needed to know what he said as a matter of life and death. Stiles lives in a ridiculous, bad, scary world. Nothing new there."

He tugs a big box of books down from the top shelf. A cloud of dust blows up and makes him sneeze.

"It must be very hard," says Button. 

"Hard? No, it's not _hard_. It's freakin' impossible."

"Because Scott might get hurt?"

"Because any of them might get hurt! Because they might already be hurt, and it's my fault."

"Ah," says Button, softly.

"I don't know what to do. Because I don't know what's happening. I don't know who this alpha is - all Derek's text said was 'no news', by the way - and I don't know what's up with the pack except I think somehow they know something's different between me and Scott and we kept it secret and it's fucked everything up, and I don't even understand what's going on myself, so it's not like I could enlighten anybody. I want things to be like they used to be. I want everybody to eat lunch together and kick ass and protect Beacon Hills from the supernatural crap that keeps turning up. I want to help Malia with math and I don't want any of them to be alone and I want to fuck Scott."

Button has this uncomfortable look on his face, like he might be blushing under his fur.

"I love Scott," Stiles says. "It's not only that I want to fuck him."

"Yes, I see," says Button.

"So, there y'go. You wanted me to talk. I talked. Now if you don't mind, I've got to a cupboard to tidy."

Button gets up off the stool, and comes over to where Stiles has pulled a bunch of books out of the boxes and spread them around in unruly heaps. "Let me help," he says. "Topic or grade order?"

"Topic," says Stiles. "Wait, what?"

Button picks up a few books, and puts them back on the shelf in a nice, square pile. "I keep telling you. I'm here to help."

"Oh."

"I could help with the other things too, if you'd like," says Button.

"Why? Why do you want to help me? There has to be something in it for you, that's how it always works with you supernatural types."

"There might come a day when I have to ask you for something. But I promise it will only be a small thing."

"Oh yeah? Well, sorry, buddy, but I don't do the whole blind promise scenario. You think you'll maybe have to wash a werewolf's Camaro for a week and you end up helping him move dead bodies around at night. If you want a deal, you state your terms up front."

"I can't." Button sounds pained about it, but Stiles isn't easily fooled. "I'm only going to give you advice. It's up to you what you do with it. And, well, I suppose if you don't trust me, if you don't like what I have to say, you don't _have_ to do anything for me."

"I'm sorry, I don't believe you. I have trust issues. You would have trust issues if you'd been through what I've been through."

"Please, Stiles, don't push. Unless you want one more person who's bound up in lies and deceit?" Button squares away another bunch of text books, sorting them just a little bit faster than is humanly possible. 

"Have you ever heard of 'lying by omission', my friend?"

Button's eyes flash brighter for a moment, from gold to brash, bright yellow. 

"Cut the crap," says Stiles. "Do you know who this alpha is? If you do, tell me. Tell me right this minute, because I'm betting Scott could kick your ass right back wherever the hell you came from, even if he can't see you. I don't believe you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart, okay? I haven't believed in angels since I was eight years old and I've met a fuck of a lot of demons." Stiles glares at him with the full force of something ancient and dark that he usually tries hard to keep buried. It shakes Button into a fluster: he drops books on the floor and when he bends to pick them up his wings are all quivery, like he's shaking.

"I'm sorry. I'm not an angel, or a demon, I'm just… I have to… I'm sorry."

"Oh for the love of God," Stiles mutters, and kneels down to help him. 

"You need to talk to them," Button whispers. "That's all. Talk to them and you'll make the secrets stop, and then you can be happy. She wants you to be happy."

Stiles straightens up, puts the books on the shelf. "Talk to who?"

No-one answers, and Stiles knows before even looking that he's all alone again.

He sits on the step ladder, and brushes dust off his hands with a heavy sigh. He gets out his phone and starts typing.

>[Chat: @McCPack] Pack meeting, Loft, tonight, 8pm. 

He doesn't even check with Scott before he sends it. 

Stiles is so done with this shit. 

*


	4. Chapter 4

Scott's stupid bike still doesn't work, so Stiles gives him a ride to Derek's that evening. Scott doesn't seem to mind that Stiles has called the meeting. He isn't thrilled that Stiles didn't ask Derek first, because there's some weird werewolf hierarchy thing, where Scott's the alpha but Derek outranks him in other wolfy ways which means his loft is no longer public property. Or never was. Or something, Stiles doesn't care, he just wants to get this over with.

They meet Liam at the elevator: he appears just as the doors are about to close and throws himself inside, managing to skid to a halt a second from faceplanting into the back wall. It's quite impressive, and makes Scott laugh.

"I ran all the way here," pants Liam.

"I see that," says Stiles. "Where's Mason?"

"He can't make it. Has to go to his sister's play. She's a tree."

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "Third grade?"

"Second."

"Oh. Our glorious alpha was a tree in Third Grade."

"You were a flower," says Scott. "And you wilted."

"And that's the end of our theatrical anecdotes," says Stiles.

Lydia, Derek and Kira are waiting for them in the loft. Derek's put out nibbles in little bowls. It's startlingly domestic. 

"Where's Malia?" Stiles asks.

"She's grounded," Kira says. 

"Seriously? What did she do?"

"I'm not sure, exactly, she didn't say, um, just that she's grounded. You know things are always difficult between her and her dad."

Stiles doesn't believe a word of it. Malia's dad grounds her all the time, but it never stops her doing anything. He keeps his mouth shut and flops himself down, cross-legged, on the floor next to Scott.

Everyone falls quiet, and listens to Derek.

"Satomi and I picked up the alpha's scent near the ravine this afternoon. We followed it all the way to the river, but couldn't find it after that. He must have deliberately covered his tracks."

"We need to keep looking," says Scott. "He must be sleeping somewhere, and he must be hunting or buying food. We should extend the search into the town."

"Be careful, Scott," Kira says. 

"I'm always careful." Scott smiles at her, and she smiles back.

"No," says Stiles. "You're clearly not. And you shouldn't believe him when he says he is, Kira. None of us should. We need to completely ignore him when he comes up with crap like 'I'm only going to take a look, you get your homework done, or go on a date or stay home and be grounded'. We know him better than that."

"I'm still in charge." And there's that growly little echo to Scott's voice that does weird things to Stiles' spine. 

"Not when you make stupid decisions."

"Are we going to go over this again?"

"We'll go over it as many times as it takes before you understand why putting yourself up for voluntary disembowelling is a really bad idea."

"He didn't know," says Liam. "It's not like he got hurt on purpose."

"Stiles is right in a way," Kira says. "Sometimes Scott's too kind for his own good."

"Sometimes Scott's an idiot," says Lydia. "I hate to say it, but he really does need saving from himself a lot of the time."

"And that's what the pack is for," says Derek. "You need to listen, Scott. They're trying to protect you. You get your strength as an alpha from your pack. Let them make you strong."

Everyone voices agreement; Liam shuffles closer to Scott, so their shoulders are touching. It should make Stiles feel better - this was what he'd wanted, for everyone to be together and support Scott. But somehow everything feels flat and empty, and he has all this anger he doesn't know what to do with any more, and he's not sure, he can't trust that any of it will make a difference.

He gets up and wanders off to the kitchen to raid Derek's fridge. He briefly considers a beer, but Derek has very very sharp teeth and all, so he opts for water instead. He rolls the cold bottle over his cheek and neck, letting it calm him. 

Kira appears in the doorway. Probably sent to check on him, because she was sitting closest to the kitchen.

"I have a question," Stiles says.

"Okay." Kira looks awkward, fidgeting like she doesn't know what to do with her hands.

"Do you still have feelings for Scott?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Hypothetically. If he changed his mind, if he wanted you back, would you?"

She's panicking. Stiles knows the signs: she's breathing fast and taking quick glances over her shoulder like she wants to run. "What did he tell you?" she says.

"About what?"

"About us. Did he tell you why he broke up with me?"

"Yes. Well, no, not exactly. He said it was amicable, like a mutual decision, but I've seen the way you look at him, Kira. You still like him, don't you?"

"I'll always like him."

"Then why let him go? You guys were great together."

Kira shakes her head. "We weren't, you know. Not really. We couldn't be. I know he liked me, and I really, really liked him, but it wasn't about just the two of us. There's always someone else in the room."

For a moment Stiles thinks she means him, but he quickly catches the truth of it. 

"Allison," he says.

"If things had worked out differently, if I'd met Scott after she died, or if she hadn't died, or maybe if things hadn't moved so fast… he wasn't ready. He'll never be ready, not with me. He needs someone new, someone who wasn't there, someone who doesn't know so much."

Or someone who knows a lot more. Someone who was _always_ there.

"We're good," Kira continues. "We're friends. I went to see him the weekend he was recovering from the alpha and we watched movies together. He seemed really lonely."

"Oh, well, I was doing research and stuff."

"Oh, no, I didn't mean to criticise, I wouldn't, I-"

She blinks, looks down at her feet. There's something else, something she isn't telling him. Something important.

He looks at her feet too. She's wearing black boots, a bit old and scuffed, with grey socks up to her knees. "Malia's not really grounded, is she?" he says.

Kira swallows, lifts her head to meet his gaze. 

"She's avoiding me," Stiles says. "Even here. With pack. With a rogue alpha breathing down our necks."

"It's not what you think, okay? It's… I wish I could explain it but I promised, we… oh God."

"You don't have to explain anything. Just tell her this: next time she can come and she won't bump into me. I don't have to be here. I haven't got claws or fangs or crazy katana powers. I can't keep Scott alive. You guys can. So you have to do it, do you understand me? You have to keep him alive."

She looks stricken, as though she's about to burst into tears, and Scott appears behind her from nowhere, asking if she's okay, putting an arm around her shoulder. 

"I have to go," Stiles says. "Killer headache. Can you get a ride home with Lydia?"

"I can walk," says Scott. "What's the matter? What's happened?"

"Nothing," says Stiles. "Stressed. I'm not sleeping. See you at school tomorrow."

He pushes past both of them, picks up his bag, aware that everyone's staring at him, but he has to keep going. He thinks maybe Lydia yells at him but he just flings himself out the door and runs down the stairs. Keeps running, all the way to his Jeep, where he takes a minute, a breath, a stifled sob, before he heads for home.

His dad's already in bed when he gets back, so Stiles gets cereal and takes it up to his room. He eats at his desk, watching his phone light up with messages from Scott and Lydia.

He half-expects a visit from Button, but there's no sign of him. Stiles is disappointed.

He'd have liked to explain to him exactly how fucked up the truth could be.

*

Scott's sitting on Stiles' front doorstep next morning when he opens the door.

"Need a lift to school?" Stiles asks.

"Yeah," says Scott, all sheepish dimples and worry.

"Come on then," says Stiles. "Just don't ask me about last night, okay?"

"Okay," says Scott. 

They get in the Jeep and Scott leans across; Stiles thinks he's going to whisper something. But he doesn't. He kisses Stiles on the mouth, a swift, fleeting thing, but undeniably a kiss.

Scott's eyes are very brown and warm and Stiles' heart is pounding.

"What did you do that for?" Stiles asks. 

"Because I…."

Scott freezes for a second, and then the hurt hits. His mouth trembles and his eyes flicker; it's like something in him's stumbling, and Stiles wants to catch him, wants to know, wants to make it better. But Scott pulls away.

"I don't know," Scott says. "Sorry."

"Scotty, what happened? What's wrong?"

"Don't ask, or I'll ask you about last night."

"What? That's not fair, I-"

"Just drive," says Scott.

*

Stiles can't face the cafeteria at lunchtime, so he grabs fries and a slice of pizza and goes out to the lacrosse field, where some of the juniors are practising catches. He sits on the bleachers and eats, remembering when that's all he and Scott had to worry about: being crap at lacrosse, even worse with girls, bored stupid. 

It seems like a very long time ago.

He's on his way back to the school when he notices the police car in the parking lot. It's Parrish, and he's talking to Scott by the school entrance.

Stiles breaks into a run.

"Hey Stiles," Scott says. "You weren't at lunch, man. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, what's this about?"

"I just dropped Lydia off," says Parrish. "But I was hoping to run into the two of you. I had an interesting conversation with a guy I worked with at my last station. He'd been on medical leave for a few weeks, got injured in a shooting. He investigated sounds of gunfire in a warehouse, and found a gang had cornered a guy. Only the way he described it wasn't like a gang exactly, it sounded more like a hunting party."

"Hunting as in hunters?" says Scott. "Like the Calaveras?"

"Could be, or it could be something else, there's no way of knowing. Pete caught crossfire, passed out and when he woke he realised that not only had the gang made a run for it, but the victim had gone too. Pete was the only one who actually saw him, and all he remembers was a dark shape huddling in the corner. They can't hunt down this gang and prosecute without a victim or proper witnesses."

"You think they might come here?" Stiles asks.

"If there is something more than gang-wars going on, yes. This place has pull that's kinda hard to ignore. I thought you'd want to keep an eye out."

"For the hunters or the victim?" Stiles says.

"Both, I guess," says Parrish. 

Stiles thought about black feathers and golden eyes and a favour he might owe. "We might have a lead. Not sure though."

"Yeah," Scott agrees. "Thanks for telling us."

"All part of the service. Hey, Stiles, could I have a word with you before you go back to class?"

"Me? Sure." Stiles pats Scott on the back. "I'll catch you in History, buddy. Cover for me if I'm late, okay?"

Stiles watches Scott until he's out of sight, anxiety tight in his chest. He has a feeling this is to do with certain files he'd given to Lydia, which, on reflection, Parrish has every reason to think should have stayed private. 

"I got the log-in reports for last month," Parrish says. 

"Oh?" says Stiles. "Bet that's scintillating reading."

"You're lucky it was me who pulled the short straw. What were you thinking, Stiles?"

"Thinking? Nothing. I didn't do anything."

"You logged on to your Dad's account and downloaded files. Confidential files."

"Me? Nooo. I can see how you might think that but, see, Dad works from home, on the road, he logs in from all over. On his phone, his laptop… mobile internet, what a time to be alive, eh?"

"The Sheriff wasn't working that day," says Parrish. "And Lydia already told me she asked you for the files."

"What? God, does nobody understand the value of subterfuge when it comes to these things? And he was! I'm sure he was, he told me he was working."

"Nope. He took a day's leave."

"Leave? Dad wouldn't take leave without telling me." He hardly ever takes leave at all, unless Stiles makes him, or to watch lacrosse games. Because his dad's life is basically work, and Stiles, and one fishing trip a year with his old army buddies. 

"Maybe he had a doctor's appointment or something. I don't know. But he wasn't at work."

Anxiety buzzes through Stiles like white noise, sharp. "Doctor's appointment? What's wrong with him? What's he not telling me? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Hey, hey, Stiles." Parrish's hand is on Stiles' arm, the professional, soothing hand of the law. Stiles knows it well. Fuck. "Stiles. I'm sure he's fine. I don't know what he did that day, I've no reason at all to think there's anything wrong with him. But he wasn't at work, so the log-in flagged up. Lydia happened to be there when I noticed it, so she explained. It's okay. Stiles? Stiles, look at me."

Stiles forces him self to focus on Parrish's calm, handsome face, and breathes. 

"It's okay," Parrish says. "I won't tell anyone. I know you were only trying to help."

"Yeah." Stiles licks his lips. They're dry, salty. "Yeah, okay. Um, thanks. I guess, yeah. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Are you going to be all right?"

The bell rang for afternoon school. 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I'd better, um…" He jerks his thumb in the direction of the school.

"Sure. Honestly, I'm sure there's nothing wrong, Stiles."

Stiles wishes people wouldn't say things like that. 

*

Stiles drives Scott home after school, and they sit there for a while after he's turned the engine off, not saying anything. 

Eventually Scott reaches out and takes Stiles' hand. 

Stiles watches him do it. 

"This morning," says Scott. "I-"

"Don't. It's okay."

"-I miss Allison."

The first thing that comes into Stiles' head is _I know, so do I._ But that's ridiculous. Because however much he misses her (and he does, a lot), it can only be a fraction of what Scott feels. And even that fraction is more than Stiles can bear sometimes. So, no, he can never know. Instead he says. "I'm here."

Scott squeezes his hand, pulls Stiles in, meets him halfway, kisses him.

The kiss is soft. Tender. Slow. It's the kind of kiss that could lead to all sorts of things, some of which aren't actually sex. It's the kind of kiss that means Stiles isn't surprised to feel Scott's hand gently cupping his face, and when the kiss stops, he misses it immediately, chases it, steals one of his own. Then it's his tenderness, his softness, his fingertips on Scott's cheek and it really, definitely means something.

"Shit." Stiles voice is a whimper.

"It's okay," says Scott, and kisses him again.

Stiles wonders whether this time, maybe, it could be.

Then a brick flies through the windshield.

*

 

Scott's chest is pressed tight over Stiles' face, his arms cradling his head. It's hot and he can't breathe much but it gradually dawns on him that Scott threw himself over Stiles, protecting him. There's a fucking great hole through the windshield, but he's fine. Scott slowly peels himself away, checking Stiles for hurt.

"I'm okay. You?" says Stiles, and Scott nods. "What the fuck was that?"

The brick lies on the back seat, surrounded by fragments of glass and wrapped in a piece of paper, secured by an elastic band. 

"That could have hit you in the head," says Scott, with a ridiculously attractive rumble in his voice. 

"But it didn't." Stiles retrieves the brick and rips the paper off it. It bears a concise message: a symbol, drawn in something that might be red ink, but Stiles thinks is probably something else.

It's a big, red spiral, and underneath is scrawled '2 days'.

"God, werewolves," says Stiles. "Always with the cryptic melodrama."

"Revenge." Scott picks up the brick, frowns at it. "Why would he want revenge against me? What have I done? I haven't hurt anybody."

"Who knows? Maybe it's some kid you beat at lacrosse once. Or a case of mistaken identity. Yeah, I bet that's it, they probably meant it for Derek. You want me to drop it off at the loft on my way home?"

"You're going home?" Scott looks disappointed. In fact he looks more disappointed about Stiles going home than worried about some werewolf out there who just declared war on him, which is exactly what's wrong with Scott and why he should never be let out alone.

"I promised my Dad. We haven't seen a lot of each other lately, and, y'know." It's true, but it's not all of it. It's Scott and that kiss and Kira and Allison and Stiles really, really needs some time to think. "Is your mom home tonight?"

Scott shakes his head. "Double shift. I should take her dinner."

"You do that. And text me, okay, text me every freakin' hour so I know you're okay and promise me, fucking _promise_ me you won't go looking for this fucking alpha, okay? And tell the pack. In fact, scratch that, I'll tell the pack. You want me to get Derek to come and watch over you?"

"Do you have any idea how humiliating that would be?"

"Do you have any idea how little I care about humiliating you if it keeps you safe?"

Scott concedes defeat on that point. 

They get takeout from the Thai place round the corner from the hospital, and then Stiles drives home. His dad thoroughly approves of the stir-fry chicken Stiles has got him and Stiles watches him as they eat, looking out for any sign of fatigue or malaise. There are none. All the evidence points to a healthy and very hungry sheriff who loves Thai food nearly as much as Scott's mom does. 

Stiles struggles with the temptation to straight out ask him what he'd taken a day's leave for, but he can't, because that would open the whole can of worms about Stiles hacking into the BHPD computer network with his dad's username and password. So after dinner he goes upstairs on the pretext of homework and hacks into his Dad's calendar instead. It's completely blank for the day in question. No appointments, no phone numbers to ring in case of cancellation, no shift pattern, nothing. It's the only blank day all month.

His dad knocks on the open door to Stiles' room, making him jump. 

"I've got some paperwork to catch up on, then I thought I'd watch the game. You gonna join me?"

"Sure, Dad. Just finishing this, um, assignment. Thing."

"Don't work too hard, son."

Stiles listens to his dad go downstairs, then gets up and quietly closes the door. 

Maybe he could talk to Melissa. Or borrow her computer at the hospital when she wasn't looking, take a look at his dad's medical files. Or something. He has to do something.

"I wouldn't worry about it if I were you."

Stiles spins around to see Button sitting on his bed.

"I'm not worried," Stiles says, instinctively.

"Oh, please. It's practically dripping off you."

Button ruffles his wings, and crosses his furry legs. 

"I always worry about my dad," says Stiles.

"But this time you don't have to."

Like he had a choice. "We always talk about me, don't we? Let's have a chat about you. Where do you come from? Out of county? Out of state?"

"In a manner of speaking. What I meant was, there are other things you should be worrying about. Don't you care about what's going to happen to you?"

"Oh, I expect there's going to be scenes of extreme violence, screaming, a lot of blood and heartbreak. Did I get it right?"

Button blinks at him. "Well…."

"Oh, and talking of extreme violence, have you been in any shootings recently?"

"Shootings? No. Why?"

"Call it a hunch."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. And I'm a little surprised you're not more worried about Scott."

"Of course I'm worried about Scott! God, I'm always worried about Scott. Scott's in danger, must be Tuesday."

"So why aren't you saving him?"

"I'm trying, you asshole," Stiles hisses. "I'm trying. If you weren't so fucking obscure with your so-called 'advice' maybe I'd be doing a lot better. Why the hell should I trust you again?"

Button dips his head, his wings clinging limply to his shoulders. He looks defeated. Stiles watches him for a few moments, then leans back against his desk and folds his arms. "Well?" 

"I can't tell you," Button says.

"Great. This again. So you pop up and say I should be worrying about Scott and I shouldn't be worrying about my dad, and let's take a moment to reflect that these are the two most important people in my whole life here, so scary doesn't even begin to cover it. Add to that the fact that we live in a pretty dangerous world with shapeshifters and banshees and spirit creatures and a fucking magic tree and don't you ever, ever, ever tell me what to worry about, okay? Because I will _not_ lose anyone I love ever again. In my experience when you believe people who appear out of the blue and tell you to trust them, very, very bad things happen. So I don't believe you, I don't trust you, I don't think you're called Button and I don't think you know fuck all about how to save anybody!"

Stiles draws in a deep, ragged breath, surprised by his own anger. He pulls out the desk chair and sits.

Button makes a sniffling noise.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Stiles says, quietly. 

Button lifts a shoulder. His wings sag, like they're too heavy for him. "You couldn't pronounce my name with human speech organs," he says. His voice is thick and he doesn't lift his gaze from the floor. "But I do want to help. I really want to help. I promised." A sob wrenches out of him, and suddenly Button is crying.

Stiles feels like shit.

"Oh, for the love of God." He rummages around on the desk until he produces a pack of tissues, which he tosses on the bed next to Button. "If it's any compensation, nobody with human speech organs can pronounce my name, either."

Button hiccoughs, and blows his nose loudly. "'M not," - another hiccough - "evil or anything."

"Yeah, I know, I'd figured that much. I have a remarkably sharp sense for actual evil. Not that anyone ever believes me."

Button nods, like Stiles just told him something he already knows.

"So what's the deal?" Stiles says. "You have to win my trust and then your wings turn white or something?"

Button looks helplessly at him. 

"Okay, okay, you're not allowed to tell me or it doesn't work. I get it." 

Button blows his nose again. It's very loud and snotty. Stiles grimaces and kicks the trash can in his direction. Button drops his tissue in it and plucks another, dabbing at his eyes. He literally looks like a kicked puppy. If Scott were here he'd be giving Stiles one of his particularly outraged and disappointed looks.

Oh God. He made a puppy cry. 

"What can you tell me?" Stiles asks. "Anything?"

"I had a pu-purpose coming here, but it wasn't supposed to go this way. I messed up." He shrugged again, his wings rustling. "I'm sorry, I can't tell you more than that. I'm already in too much trouble as it is."

"Okay. That's better. I can work with that. I think I know. I'm not supposed to be able to see you, am I?"

Button swallowed, hard, and gave the tiniest nod of his head. "I'm just a messenger. I didn't know you'd be there that night."

"You knew I'd be able to see you if I was?"

"You were void."

The word chimes in Stiles' head; for an instant he's cold and lost and afraid, and then he remembers to breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

"Scott's very vulnerable," says Button. "And before you jump down my throat, it's not necessarily in the way you think."

"Well, I think he's vulnerable because he lost the love of his life and his pack is in complete disarray. Which is all kinds of fucked up, because we all love Scott and desperately want to help him."

"Oh." Button sits up a little straighter. "You do understand."

"It all goes back to Allison," Stiles says. "Always."

Button nods. And Stiles aches to ask him how he knows, how he knows about Allison and Scott and the pack and what the fuck his purpose was in the first place. But he's done being an asshole. For one night, at least. 

"He needs you," Button says.

"I've been with him through everything," he says. "But just lately I keep messing up and all I want to do is be there for him."

"You've come very close," Button says, kindly. "Don't give up, Stiles. Please, don't give up. She's right. You can heal him. Only you."

Then Stiles blinks, just the tiniest, shortest of blinks, and Button disappears.

"Wait," he says to the empty room. "Who's right?"

*


	5. Chapter 5

"Stiles. Stiles, wake up. I need to talk to you. Stiles!"

Stiles is dreaming. He's in bed with Malia, and she's trying to tell him something. She's warm and comforting and shaking his arm - actually, ow, _not_ so comforting, and now Stiles is awake.

Awake.

He's awake, and Malia is-

"Stiles!" 

She's there, right there. Kneeling on his bed and shaking him awake. 

"Malia?"

"At last. I thought you'd never wake up."

"Malia, what are you doing here? Why…? What…?"

"I have to talk to you."

"You do? Hey, you're not going to turn into a dog with wings, are you?"

"A dog with wings? Stiles, what are you talking about?"

"It doesn't matter. God, you're really here?"

Malia turns on the lamp by the bed, and pulls him up so he's sitting, looking at her, very much really there. 

"I missed you so damn much," he says. 

"I missed you, too," she says.

He smiles at her, and she smiles back.

"Not in a romantic way," she adds, hastily, and she looks relieved when he agrees. "But I like you, and nobody can teach me math like you."

"Is that what this is about? Liam said you were struggling a bit."

"No, although I should probably kick Liam's ass for telling you that. Derek told me to come and talk to you."

"Derek?"

"I'm living with him now. Big bust up with my Dad."

"After he grounded you?"

"What? He didn't ground me." She frowned. "At least I don't think he did."

"Kira said that's why you weren't at the pack meeting."

"Ah. See, this is the whole problem, I can't keep everything straight. That's why I couldn't talk to you."

Stiles takes her hand. It feels warm and strong, and her fingers curl easily around his. Familiar. "You can always talk to me," he says. "Always. About anything. You know that."

"I know. But I can't _lie_ to you, Stiles. Not you. I'm pretty crap at lying anyway, Lydia says, but especially to you."

"So don't lie to me," says Stiles. "Tell me the truth."

"I'm sleeping with Kira," says Malia.

Stiles' world wobbles on its axis for a second, and then he realises he's staring at her with his mouth wide open. 

"We're dating," Malia adds. "Apparently. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. You're dating Kira?"

"Yes, for a month, maybe a bit more, I lose count. Kira doesn't."

"Wow. Wow, seriously?"

Malia rolls her eyes. "Yes, Stiles. Seriously."

"Right. Wow. You and Kira?"

"Yes, me and Kira."

Stiles finds himself thinking of Malia and Kira rolling around on Kira's bed, half-naked. There are feathers from a pillow fight and Kira's wearing those knee-high socks… 

He puts his teenage libido in check and squeezes Malia's hand. "Are you happy?"

She beams at him. "So happy. Really, seriously, it's… it's not like with you, it's good. Not that you and I weren't good! We were. But this is different-good."

"So why couldn't you tell me? I mean, we were done after your road-trip of personal discovery, we were friends, things were cool between us. You got that, right?"

"Yes. It was Kira's idea not to tell anyone. She didn't want to upset Scott."

Suddenly the conversation with Kira makes a whole lot more sense. "That's why you've been avoiding me. And why she's worrying about Scott. She doesn't want him back at all."

"I hope not. He's pretty strong, I don't want to have to fight him for her."

Stiles is mostly sure she's joking.

"She feels _guilty_. I got it all wrong," he says. "God, I couldn't have got it much wronger if I'd tried."

"So it's okay?" Malia says. "You don't mind? What about Scott?"

Elation surges through Stiles and he launches himself at Malia to give her a huge hug. "I promise, I couldn't care less," he says, and she relaxes, hugs him back. "I literally couldn't give a fuck, and I'm sure Scott won't either. Wait, is that why your Dad threw you out?"

"He had a run in with Kira's mom. It's a long story. But it worked out pretty well, I like it at Derek's and he's out a lot, so Kira and I can have sex after school most days without him complaining about the noise."

"God, this is so good. I'm so happy for you."

"And you're sure Scott will be okay with it? Because if not, Kira will probably kill me."

Stiles gives her a huge grin.

"He'll be absolutely fine. Leave Scott to me."

*

It's heading towards freezing outside and the Jeep is missing its windshield, but Stiles doesn't feel the chill. He drives to Scott's as fast as he dares, the road glistening grey from rain and moonlight. He finds the house in darkness except for the soft glow of the light they always leave on in the hallway. Scott's mom's car isn't there: she's still at work. Stiles parks the Jeep, runs down the path, gets his key in the lock on the third trembling attempt and lets himself into the house. He charges upstairs, then hesitates at the door to Scott's room, takes a breath, opens it.

"Stiles?" Scott looks up blearily from his pillow. "What's wrong?" He turns on the bedside light.

"Nothing," says Stiles, with acute sincerity, striding towards the bed. "Absolutely nothing is wrong." 

Scott sits up, blinking, bare-chested, his hair mussed and his cheeks flushed from sleep. Stiles runs the last couple of steps, flings his arms around him, half-hugging him, half-falling on him, presses his mouth hard against Scott's. Scott makes a surprised, squeaky noise but he holds Stiles close and kisses him back. He's warm and Stiles can taste toothpaste and the sweet inside of Scott's mouth; he could melt into this, just melt and kiss Scott until their lips went numb. He could. But this is more. This has to be more than kisses and sex and cuddling in Scott's bed. 

"I want to fuck you," he murmurs against Scott's cheek. "And I want everyone to know about it."

There's a pause, a heartbeat, and then Scott says. "Even my mom? Because seriously, dude, I'm not sure she's ready for that much information."

Stiles laughs, backhands Scott lightly on his shoulder. "No, you idiot, I mean us. I want everyone to know about us. Although they'll probably guess the fucking part. Okay?"

"Oh. Okay, that makes more sense." Scott grins at him; God, those dimples. Stiles kicks off his shoes, wriggles himself up properly onto the bed. "No more secrets. About anything. I swear. You're my best friend and I'm ready for you to be more. So, so much more. Let everyone else deal with their shit. We earned this."

"But you said…."

"I know, I'll explain later, but trust me, dude, Kira is going to be beyond fine with it. And Malia, too. I promise."

"Okay." Scott gives him a wrinkly-nosed look of puzzlement, but his hand is working its way up Stiles' back, inside his shirt, and Stiles is arching into it. 

"Right." Stiles pulls the bottle of lube out of his pocket and drops it on the bed. "Let's do this."

Scott raises an eyebrow. "Okay?"

Stiles kisses him, skates the sharp edge of his teeth with his tongue, nibbles and presses and licks until they're both breathless. He pauses, traces Scott's lower lip with his finger. Scott nips at it with the tiny suggestion of a growl, making Stiles' stomach flip. 

"So." Scott clears his throat. "That lube, is it-"

"Ass-lube," says Stiles. "I really do want to fuck you."

"Oh." Scott swallows.

"Is that okay?" 

"Yeah." Stiles watches Scott's courage catch up with his lust. "Yeah, I'd like that. Is it okay with you?"

"Seriously, you have no idea." Stiles pecks a kiss to Scott's nose. 

"One thing, though." Scott eyes the lube and swallows again. "I haven't, um. Before. Done it. That. Exactly."

Stiles' heart skips a beat and he gives Scott a slow, sly grin. "Don't worry. I have. I'll take good care of you." He enjoys the surprise on Scott's face for a moment or two, then kisses him again. 

He stands up to take off his clothes while Scott wriggles out of his pants and pushes the covers back. Stiles looks, takes in the sight of Scott naked and God, he's so fucking gorgeous. Stiles always knew that intellectually, but he's never really taken it on board so thoroughly at the level of desire and possessiveness and pride: Scott's gorgeous, a hero, the best friend anyone could ever want, and he's _his_. 

Scott touches his hand, and Stiles realises he's standing there staring with his jeans around his ankles. "You're distracting," he says. His voice comes out a bit creaky.

"I'm probably supposed to be."

"Sure, but, uh, could you stop for a bit? Because otherwise I'm going to be standing here drooling and I need to get to the good part. Not that standing here drooling isn't good because it is, it's just that, wow."

Scott tugs on his hand, and Stiles drops to kneel on the bed, kicking his jeans off as he goes. Scott helps him out of his shirt and then he's naked, they're both naked. And it feels so different, because now Stiles knows what this is. That they can have this whenever they want. They can be what they want. They can hold hands in the corridors and make out in the locker room and trade desperate blow jobs in the boys' bathroom on the top floor. They can go to fucking Prom together. They can do all this new and crazy stuff and it makes Stiles' heart pound in his ears just to think about it. 

He's getting distracted again, and it's a good thing Scott's there to bring him back by taking a firm hold on his dick. 

Stiles makes a little 'eep' noise, and looks down. There's something ridiculously hot about watching Scott touch him like that. His grip is loose, teasing. His thumb brushes over the slit, spreading precome around. 

"If you do that I'm not going to get to the other part," Stiles says.

"Yeah, you will," says Scott, all matter-of-fact alphaness. 

"Glad you have confidence in me."

Scott hands him the lube.

"Oh, man," says Stiles. He trails his hand over Scott's chest, down to his abs, where he takes a moment to run his index finger over smooth skin and flexing muscle. Scott's cock is thick and hard, but Stiles doesn't touch it yet. Instead he cradles Scott's balls in his palm, feels the weight of them, stroking, not too hard, not too soft. He works his way behind them, following the line of Scott's taint to his hole. Scott jumps when he touches him there, and Stiles watches him settle himself down, willing himself to relax. "It's okay," Stiles says. "We can go as slow as you like."

"This is good. I want this. I really want this."

Stiles kisses the middle of Scott's chest, warm salt skin, and kneels between his legs. He slicks up his fingers and touches Scott again, gently, watching Scott's body twitch and soothe in response. This time when he brushes his fingertips over Scott's hole, his head goes back and his eyelids flutter. Stiles rubs a bit, smoothing his other hand down Scott's thigh, reassuring him. 

"God," says Scott, and that's the point when Stiles is absolutely certain that it's not just that Scott hasn't been fucked, but he hasn't had anything up there at all. He hasn't even been touched like this before. The pleasure of that thought fills his heart and makes everything feel right. It's like the old days, Stiles leading them both into some crazy new adventure, Scott following along with his puppy-dog loyalty and trust. 

"I love you, man," Stiles says, slipping the very tip of his finger up Scott's ass. 

"God, that feels good. I didn't know it would feel that good."

Stiles slips it in a little further, and wiggles it.

"And I love you," Scott adds. "You know that, right?"

Stiles smiles. He finds Scott's prostate, and rubs gently, watching Scott's expression. It goes from happy to a bit puzzled, and then, as the spot Stiles is caressing firms up and Scott's hips start to move to the rhythm of it, Scott's eyes open and his jaw drops and he looks at Stiles as if he's the most awesome person in the world. 

"Good, huh?" says Stiles, allowing himself a moment of smugness. 

"Fuck yeah," says Scott. "I honestly had no idea."

"Well, you do now. Ready for more?"

"It gets better?"

"Oh yes, my friend. It gets a lot better."

Stiles slicks up his cock and fingers, making sure Scott is as wet and open as he can be. He shoves a couple of pillows under Scott's hips and lines himself up. His hand's shaking, he's breathing fast and his cock is absolutely rock hard. They both gasp when he touches the tip of it to Scott's ass. He traces tiny circles, spreading lube about, and then he pushes in. Slowly. Pausing every other breath, checking for any sign that Scott's changed his mind. The head pops in and Stiles waits, letting him adjust, until Scott reaches out, takes a hold of Stiles' hip and squeezes. 

"More," Scott growls. "Please, need more."

"Oh God. Bear down a bit, you need to-" Scott's body gives way and Stiles slides the rest of the way in one long, easy push, and suddenly he's inside, all heat and slick and the tight press of Scott's ass around his cock. He falls forwards, catching himself on his hands, fingers splayed over Scott's shoulders, leans in and kisses him. Scott can barely kiss back, he's breathing so hard. Stiles smears kisses along his jaw, down his neck, murmuring all the time. "Are you okay? Oh God, you feel so good, Scott, so good, your ass is fucking amazing, you know?" 

Scott runs his hand down Stiles' back, from his neck to the bottom of his spine, and squeezes his butt. "You can move, Stiles. Please. Please, move."

Stiles raises his head, needing to watch. He strokes the hair back from Scott's face and lifts his hips inch by inch, pulling out as slowly as he can.

"Hey, werewolf here. You don't have to be gentle," Scott whispers.

"I do." Stiles kisses his nose, his cheek, his forehead. "I really do."

He takes Scott like that, with long, careful strokes and languorous kisses, until Scott's whimpering and starts to snap his hips up to meet Stiles' thrusts, and then Stiles lets go and loses himself. Every thrust is tight, sweet friction; he feels Scott's knuckles grazing his belly and realises Scott's jerking himself and Stiles watches, biting his lip, knowing that he's done this, he's made Scott feel this good. Scott's breathing fast and Stiles' balls feel damn full and his spine has started that tingle that means he's slipping out of control. Scott yells and he's coming, thick white stripes of it over his belly, reaching right up to his neck, and Stiles takes every shred of control he has left and fucks Scott through it, matching his rhythm to the roll of Scott's hips. The restraint is frustrating and delicious all at the same time, and it can't last, so the moment when Scott goes boneless is a fierce, wrenching point of no return for Stiles. He means to pull out but his hips push him in, he hears himself cry out and then he's there, coming deep, deep inside Scott's body, so intense and amazing it feels like he's pouring his fucking soul into him. Scott's stroking his hair, gentle, calm, and it's the absolute best moment of Stiles' life, right there. Right there. Right there.

*

Stiles curls up to Scott's side, fingers idly drifting over his chest. Scott's dozing, although he makes a weird little huffy noise every time Stiles accidentally touches his nipple. 

Stiles lets his breath come and go, sinks into the rhythm of Scott's heartbeat, eyes drifting over the familiar landscape of Scott's room. He skates over books and pictures and notices the pebble on the bookcase, the one Scott keeps because he found it in the woods one day with Allison, and next to it, soft and black, is the feather.

Stiles nuzzles Scott's shoulder, remembering a walk on the beach with his father, the first anniversary of his mom's death. The salt-sting on his cheeks, the ache in his chest, the reassuring warmth of his father's hand. His dad was sorry. Sorry for not being there for him, sorry for not coping better. It was the first time he said any of those things, and he never had to say them again. 

When they got back in the car to go home his dad reached out, put something small and soft in Stiles' palm and closed his fingers around it. For hope, he said. 

Like a blessing.

Stiles had taken it home and tucked it in his top drawer, in a little box with a lock of his mom's hair. It was still there. 

A single, snow-white feather.

*

The pack meets at Derek's loft before school the next morning, in response to a feverish exchange of texts between Derek and Scott at dawn. It's alarmingly early for Stiles, especially since he was up most of the night having mindblowing sex with Scott. But, probably because he was up most of the night having mindblowing sex with Scott, he doesn't care how early it is, how likely it is that he's going to miss first period, or that they're the last to arrive because he had to call in at home to get a change of clothes. He doesn't care about anything very much except how great he feels, and he knows he has a big goofy grin on his face. 

Everyone's there, waiting for them: Lydia, Liam, Mason, Kira, Malia, Derek. Liam and Mason squish up on the sofa to make room, and as soon as they're settled Stiles interrupts whatever Derek was about to say to make an announcement.

"I have an announcement," he says. "I know this will be a bit of a shock, it certainly was to us - anyway, I want everyone to know that Scott and I are together now." This is greeted with a lot less surprise than Stiles expected, although Derek has the decency to raise an eyebrow. It might be more because Stiles interrupted him, but whatever. Everyone shrugs or nods and smiles, Scott goes all shy, but Stiles is getting a sense of general goodwill from the room.

"While we're announcing things," says Malia, "I'm having sex with Kira." Kira squeaks and blushes, and Mason laughs. "And we're really happy for Stiles and Scott. Nobody's upset or anything." 

"That's so sweet, thank you," says Stiles. "So, if everyone's cool with everything, we're all cool with it, so there won't be any more lies or hiding things, and everything can just carry on as normal. And I'm sorry it's been weird."

A ripple of relieved noises goes around, and Scott squeezes Stiles' hand. Then Kira gets up and comes and hugs them both, and Malia joins in, while Lydia mutters. "God, about time." Derek folds his arms across his chest, tapping one foot. 

"You may proceed," Stiles tells him. Malia and Kira go back to their cushions, all tangled up in each other. Stiles winks at them.

"Great," says Derek. "If we're done with the adolescent confessional, and I _really_ hope we are, I have some news about the rogue alpha. Satomi and her pack tracked him to an empty apartment block on the northern outskirts of town. She thinks he's staying there at night."

"In an apartment block?" says Stiles. "That's a bit upmarket. Not very roguey."

"It's scheduled for demolition," says Derek. "What part of that is 'upmarket'?"

"It makes sense," Scott says. "The nights are getting cold and he has to know that we're all looking for him. Easier to hide in town than out in the woods."

"Satomi said he seemed tired," Derek says. "She thinks he's been on the run for a long time."

"Yeah," Scott says. "I think he's been running from hunters."

"Oh," says Stiles. "He's the guy Parrish was talking about?" Scott nods. "I was thinking that was our feathery-doggy friend, but that actually makes a lot more sense. But why go out of his way to piss us off? He could have just asked us for help."

"If you're running long enough, you stop looking for friends," Malia says. "You assume everyone you meet is a potential threat."

"But he chucked a brick at us wrapped up in a note with the emoji for revenge scribbled all over it. That sounds more like a purposeful attack than your classic werewolf defence."

"I think that was directed specifically at me," says Scott. "And that's why I have to talk to him alone."

Stiles' blood ran cold. "You're not serious."

"I think it's the best way."

There was a chorus of protest from the rest of the pack. "Last time he nearly killed you," Stiles says. "How can that possibly be the best way?"

Scott threads his fingers through Stiles'. "Things are different now. I feel strong, really strong. And I don't want him to feel like he's under attack."

"We can still be there," says Kira. "We can back you up without being a threat to him. It's too dangerous for you to be alone."

"Kira's right," says Malia. "You shouldn't risk getting gutted like a fish again."

"I won't," says Scott. "I promise."

"No, you won't," Liam says. "Because we'll be right behind you."

"Listen to them, Scott," says Stiles. "Please."

"He'll be more dangerous if he thinks I've brought reinforcements," says Scott, stubbornly. "I know what I'm doing. I won't get hurt this time."

Everyone talks at once, until Derek silences them with a low growl. "There's a basement," he says. "We can wait there and he won't hear or scent us."

"In which case how will we hear or scent Scott if he's in trouble?" says Stiles.

"I mean he won't be able to sense us if we're quiet," says Derek. "Scott won't be quiet if he needs help, will you, Scott?"

"I won't need help," says Scott, and Stiles could hit him for being so stubborn. "Not with a pack as strong as this. You don't have to physically be in the building to help me. This… this feels good."

"Because we all like you," says Stiles. "And we can all like you a lot better if we're in the same building protecting your furry little ass."

Scott looks at him, and Stiles' heart skips, because Scott doesn't look that way at anyone else, never has. "I don't have a furry little ass," Scott says.

"You so do," says Stiles.

And Scott kisses him.

"We'll be in the basement," says Derek. "Now stop that and get to school. All of you."

*

They stand in what was probably once a nice, clean hallway, looking up at the staircase to the upper floors, most of which is now exposed to the outside, due to an entire wall being missing. Derek wasn't kidding about the apartment block being derelict. This part of town was scheduled for redevelopment years ago, but something happened to halt the planning process, and the buildings were boarded up and cordoned off with hoardings and fences while the bureaucrats fought it out in court. Once Stiles looked into it he realised it was where the old shopping mall was that Derek nearly died in last year. It's where his dad and Scott's did a raid on a crack den over the summer. It's bleak and depressing, and it occurs to Stiles that even in the most dire of circumstances, wolves rarely resort to places like this unless they're omegas, outcasts. Desperate.

He understands why Scott might have sympathy for this alpha. But he can't have any himself. Not after it ripped Scott apart like that.

"Stiles," Scott murmurs. "It's okay. Go with Derek and the others."

"You know what? Change of plan. I don't care what perfect excuse this guy has for what he did to you. I'm all for killing him. Being all sad and misunderstood and chased by hunters doesn't make what he did right, Scott."

"Nobody's killing anybody." Scott's voice is weary, like he's fed up of saying it, and Stiles lets out a long, exasperated breath. The eternal conundrum: Scott being so fucking noble was what made Scott amazing. It was also what constantly put Scott in danger. But it stopped Scott from turning into Peter Hale or a kanima or something worse. And Stiles had _been_ something worse. He loves Scott just the way he is.

Fuck it.

He grabs Scott's phone, and dials his own number. (Scott has put a less-than-three next to Stiles' name in his contacts, God, what has he got himself into?) He answers the call the instant his phone vibrates, puts Scott's phone on hands-free, volume to zero, locks the screen and shoves it back in Scott's pocket. 

"Be quick," he says. "Or we'll be up those really dangerous-looking stairs in a second and there will be katanas and claws and bats and proper actual wolf teeth. Okay?"

"You brought your bat?"

"Of course I brought my bat." Stiles waves it at him in a vaguely threatening manner. "Now, go!"

Scott runs to the stairs and Derek grabs Stiles, pulling him down towards an metal door marked 'basement' that's all but hanging off its hinges. Stiles goes backwards, watching Scott leap up the stairs until he's completely out of sight. 

Stiles puts his phone to his ear as he follows the others into the dark, listening through the crackle and hiss to Scott's breath.

Derek pulls the door closed behind them, and Mason turns on his flashlight, pointing it carefully at the floor. 

"Lydia," Stiles whispers. "Is it okay?"

"I told you," Lydia says. "If I get any sense of Scott's impending death, I will let you know. Although if you must know, this whole fucking place reeks of it. I do not like it here, and the sooner Scott gets this over with the better. I want to go stand under a shower for like a week."

Stiles hears a chuckle from somewhere behind him, familiar but not. He glances over his shoulder.

Button is leaning against the wall, wings furled. He holds a finger to his lips.

Stiles' phone makes a banging noise, startling him back into the moment. 

Scott's knocking on a door somewhere. The others watch Stiles expectantly. He listens, holding up a hand to keep them quiet, even though none of them is making a sound. 

"I'm not here to fight," comes Scott's voice. "I want to help."

Stiles can't make out the alpha's voice, but he can tell he's speaking and that's probably a good sign. It's better than the sound of rending. And if Stiles hears so much as a single blow falling on Scott they'll be upstairs in an instant. Because like fuck is he going to wait for Scott to howl for help.

"That's not true," Scott is saying. "I have an arrangement with the Calaveras. They don't bother my pack so long as we protect Beacon Hills. There are no hunters here, not any more. I swear. I have nothing to do with those that hurt you."

The indistinct voice comes again, more growly this time. Stiles thinks he hears Scott moving, taking a step. Defending himself. He'd better be fucking defending himself.

"Stronger than you thought, huh?"

Stiles moves, but Derek grabs his arm, holds him back with a mimed 'shhhh'.

"I told you," Scott says. "I don't want to hurt you. I want to help you. I know you were driven here by hunters, and I can put you under my protection. We can find them and they will be punished, I promise. But you have to trust me. Listen to my heartbeat, listen to my voice. You know you can trust me."

There's a silence so long that Stiles wants to crawl out of his skin. He clings to the sound of Scott's breath, slow and steady, in and out. And then there's another sound. Sobbing? Sobbing. Definitely sobbing.

"It's okay," Scott says, gently. "I understand."

Stiles braces himself for the betrayal, for the alpha to take advantage of Scott's sweet, kind nature. But nothing happens. The werewolf cries and Scott speaks softly to him, soothing, and Stiles can hear the alpha in his voice. 

He catches sight of Liam, who's rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand; he looks at Malia, who nods. 

The phone crackles, and this time Scott's voice is clear and bright and just for him. "We're coming down, Stiles. Put the bat away, okay?"

The pack stands around, wary but still, as Scott leads the rogue alpha down the stairs. He's not at all the monster Stiles imagined. He's Liam's age or thereabouts; his hair is long and matted, his face tearstained and still a little round, like he hasn't grown into his cheekbones yet. He's shaking, and Stiles notices Scott hold his hand, take a bit of his pain. 

"This is Kyle," Scott says, keeping his anger so well in check that a stranger would scarcely notice it. "His pack were attacked by hunters. He and his mother were the only survivors, and his mother had a mortal wound. She made him take her life, to give him her alpha power, so he might have the very best chance of survival."

Shit. No wonder the kid went beserk. Stiles remembers all too well how hard it was for Scott to get his alpha powers under control, and he'd had his pack and other alphas around to help. 

Derek takes a step forward. "Hello Kyle. My name's Derek. We're here to help you, okay?" He melts into full-wolf over the three strides it takes him to reach Kyle's side. Kyle's eyes go wide and he sinks his fingers into Derek's deep, lush fur. A moment later he's on his knees and sobbing, while Derek stands close, nuzzling him, licking his face. 

The others come forward and Scott takes them to one side, speaking to them in a low voice, but Stiles hangs back. He can catch up on the 'care and feeding of Kyle' talk later. He has other unfinished business to attend to.

Button's still leaning against the wall in the basement. He's watching Kyle and Derek, wings rustling.

"I worked it out," Stiles says. "The feather was for Scott, wasn't it? She wants him to be happy."

"With you," says Button.

"But I saw you that night, the feather freaked me out and I ran away. Messed everything up."

"It wasn't my finest moment," Button admits. "I'm not usually that careless."

"I fixed it. We're together and the pack's together and everyone's cool. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

"I told you it was only a small favour. Thank you, Stiles."

Stiles smiles. "Believe me, the pleasure is all mine."

Button coughs delicately. He might have been blushing again.

"Will you…. Can you tell her I'll look after him? I promise."

Button smiles, and nods.

"So we're all done now?" says Stiles.

"Oh yes. I'm not here for you. Not this time."

Button walks past Stiles to the doorway, stretching his wings as he goes.

There's a waft of a breeze and Button launches himself into the air. He circles over them all once, twice, and then something falls, flutters down towards them. Kyle catches it just before it lands on Derek's head. He twirls it in his finger, blinking at it through his tears like it's something magical.

"A feather," Lydia says, glancing at Stiles.

"Yes," says Stiles, and then, softly, "A message from the dead."

They exchange a long look, and then, out of the corner of his eye, Stiles sees Button catch a current and fly up, and up, and up, until he's nothing but a tiny speck in the deep, dark near-night blue of the sky. 

"I suppose we ought to pick up Derek's clothes," Lydia mutters. "Again."

"You can do it," Stiles says. "I know you want to be there when he's naked and chilly and wants them back."

"Don't be ridiculous," says Lydia. "I am so done with werewolves."

"Yeah," says Stiles, with a sidelong glance at Scott. "I keep saying that, too."

Scott looks back, and grins.

*

Stiles is all sweaty from dancing, and the cold hits him like a smack in the face when they spill out of the club. He shivers.

"Let's go back to mine," says Scott. "Mom's at work."

"So's my dad." Stiles wraps his arms around Scott's neck and presses his body in close. "But I left my phone charger in your room last night and my phone's nearly dead. So. Your house." He kisses Scott on the nose, but Scott moves and then he's kissing Scott on the mouth, and, well, that's not a bad idea, as it turns out.

Lydia pokes him in the ribs. "You're blocking the doorway."

"And you're making very loud noises," adds Liam.

"Must be werewolf hearing," murmurs Stiles.

"Really not," says Mason.

Scott drags Stiles to one side, leaving room for the rest of the pack (apart from Derek, who's at Satomi's with Kyle, and Parrish, who's on duty) to file out into the alley. 

"I'm hungry," Malia announces.

"The diner's still open," says Kira, taking Malia's hand. "We could get burgers."

Everyone else voices enthusiastic agreement, except for Scott, who taps the back of Stiles' hand three times, their secret code for 'I want to be alone with you'. 

"Actually, guys, we're heading off," says Stiles. "Scott here has work tomorrow."

"A likely story," says Lydia.

"It's true," says Scott, grinning like a lunatic. Stiles bursts out laughing, he can't help it. He feels so damn _happy_. 

Lydia rolls her eyes and they say their goodbyes, hugs all round, and then Scott and Stiles go to the Jeep while the others head to the diner. 

It takes a while to get into the Jeep, because Scott presses Stiles up against the door and what starts out as a quick kiss turns into a full on make-out session. Stiles is spread out on the backseat with Scott unzipping his jeans before he even remembers they were on their way home. He pulls Scott's head down and kisses him, nipping at the tip of his tongue. Scott's hand's on his dick now and he doesn't want to stop, never mind that they're technically in public and his lacrosse stick is poking him in the ribs. 

"Just to take the edge off," Scott says. Stiles licks Scott's neck, tasting salt, and Scott growls. Stiles is getting good at the wolf-stuff. It was quite the revelation finding out exactly how quickly a well-placed lick, nuzzle or nip could render Scott insensible with lust. 

"Yeah, you like that, don't you baby?" Stiles sucks on Scott's earlobe, slipping his hand up Scott's shirt to stroke his back. 

"About as much as you like this." Scott rubs his thumb over Stiles' nipple. It tickles fiercely for a second and then the tickle mellows into a deep, warm tingle that makes Stiles' dick jerk. He feels it in his balls, how does that even work? Who cares? It's amazing. "I want you naked," Scott says, lips brushing Stiles' ear. "I want you naked where I can look at you, where I can scent and touch every inch of you before I fuck you."

"We can do that," squeaks Stiles. "Yeah, we could definitely do that. Let's do that. Probably not here though. Might need a bed."

"I'm gonna make you come first. So you can concentrate on driving."

"That's a good plan. I fully endorse that… oh, fuck." Stiles arches his back, biting his lip as Scott wraps one hand around both their dicks. "I'm really liking your work tonight, you know that?"

"Yeah? How much?"

"Oh, in the region of I'm gonna come in an embarrassingly short time."

"I can live with that." Scott's voice is deep and growly, and that alone sends shocks of pleasure down Stiles' spine. He's using this kind of rolling motion that rubs the most sensitive part of Stiles' dick against the most sensitive part of Scott's; he can feel it and imagine what Scott's feeling at the same time. It's overload, the best kind, all slick with precome and Stiles watches Scott's face; his eyes are closed and Stiles knows he's breathing them both in. 

"Do I smell good?" Stiles asks, voice ragged and hoarse.

"So fucking good." Scott nuzzles into his neck. "So fucking good. Oh God, Stiles, oh, oh, oh…."

Scott's fingers tighten and things get wet; he's coming over Stiles' dick, warm and sticky and Stiles plunges a hand down between them to finish himself off. He writhes and revels in the heat of Scott's body, the slick of his come, the tang of it in the air. His balls pull tight and his head jerks back as he yells and comes, long, fierce pulses, held safe under Scott's body, Scott looking down at him with a look of wonder and awe and love on his face. 

Stiles floats, dimly aware of the idiotic grin on his face and acutely aware of Scott's lips on his skin as he kisses his neck, his jaw, his chin. Stiles opens his eyes to see Scott licking come off his fingers, and his balls twitch, like they want to give him seconds. 

Stiles makes a feeble whining noise, and Scott laughs. 

"Too sleepy to drive," he mumbles. "Let's sleep here."

"We're in Jungle's car park. In about ten minutes they'll close and this place will be swarming with people."

"They won't mind." Stiles rubs his forehead on Scott's shoulder. "'S dark."

"We're parked right under a streetlight. Tell you what, I'll drive."

"You can't drive stick," says Stiles, and then they're giggling uncontrollably. 

"Take me home," Scott breathes against Stiles' neck. "And I'll show you just how much stick I can drive."

Stiles flails his way up to sitting. "That had better be a promise, big guy."

"Do I ever let you down?"

And Stiles kisses him because, no. No, in all their years of friendship and everything they've been the past few weeks, Scott has never, ever let him down. He's been annoying and infuriating and impossibly heroic, but he's never, ever let him down.

"Home," says Stiles.

*

Stiles is chilly and sticky and looking forward to a shower when they pull up outside Scott's house. But Scott tenses beside him. He's staring at the house.

"What's up, buddy?"

"There's a light on in the living room."

"So? Maybe your mom left it on."

"She'd already gone to work when I went out. Shit, Stiles, what if my dad's back in town?"

"We make polite conversation for ten seconds, and then make our excuses and leave. Hey, you could tell him about our new relationship status, he'd hate that. Or we could go straight to my house, if you can't face it."

"No, I should check it out. It might not be him. It could be-"

"It could be that your mom's come home early. Isn't that her car, man?"

Melissa's Toyota is parked a little way up the street; Stiles recognises it by the 'nurse by day, ninja by night' bumper sticker he and Scott slapped on it for her birthday. It's a bit scruffy at the edges where she's tried to get it off. Apparently bumper sticker glue is serious business these days.

"I wonder why she's home?" Scott's already getting out of the Jeep and prowling towards the house with a glint of red in his eyes. Stiles follows him up the path and onto the porch, trying to be quiet because Scott is obviously trying to sneak up on things. Scott slips his key in the lock and turns it, opens the door carefully, really slow at the point it tends to creak. 

They make it into the hallway; the door to the living room is ajar and Scott pauses there, frowning. He's sniffing, and he looks confused. Stiles takes a single step forwards, trips over his own foot and is about to fall straight into the room when Scott catches him.

Scott clamps his hand over Stiles' mouth, and silently nudges the door all the way open.

Melissa is curled up on the couch, asleep under the patchwork blanket Scott's grandma made. That's not unusual. What's unusual is that her head is resting in the lap of the Sheriff of Beacon County. The Sheriff. His Sheriff. His dad.

The Sheriff's fingers are very gently stroking Melissa's hair. 

A bunch of puzzle pieces slot together in Stiles' mind. How keen his dad had been for Stiles to sleepover at Scott's. His mystery day off. The time he _gave Stiles his credit card_ to get him out of the house after he'd come home earlier than expected. 

"Dude," Scott whispers. He sounds a bit broken, so it's Stiles who pulls them both back out into the hallway. 

"My house?" he says.

"Totally," says Scott.

"Cool. And I never want to hear the words 'secret relationship' from anybody, ever again, okay?"

"Fine by me."

They make a rapid, if not overly quiet escape back to the Jeep, and Stiles pulls away so fast he barely touches second gear.

Scott's phone pings. 

"It's my mom," he says, staring at the screen as if it was covered with poisonous slime. "She wants us to meet them both for breakfast tomorrow morning."

"They'll want to have a Talk." There's something like panic in Stiles' chest, but something else as well, something like excitement and warmth and a really, really strong dose of _good_. 

"Oh God, not a Talk," groans Scott.

"Hey, it's not so bad, dude. We can give them a little talk of our own."

Scott relaxes a tiny bit, and glances at him. "No more secrets?"

"No more secrets," Stiles agrees.

Scott breathes out a long, long breath, and leans back in his seat. 

"Hey, Stiles?"

"Yo?"

"Can we have celebratory no-more-secrets shower sex when we get to your house?"

"Let me think," says Stiles. "Oh my fucking God, _yes_ , dude."

Scott is smiling the most smug smile in the history of smug smiles.

Stiles smiles right back.

_~Fin~_


End file.
